Laughing During Sex
by Lesera128
Summary: Now that Booth & Brennan have finally hooked up, why will no one believe that they're actually together? To what lengths will they have to go to prove it to others & what does a bet about laughing in bed play in the outcome? AU.
1. Pro: Taking It Seriously

Laughing during Sex

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Now that Booth and Brennan have finally hooked up, why will no one believe that they're actually together? To what lengths will they have to go to prove it, and what role does a bet about laughing in bed play in the outcome of the events? Fluff and smut abound. Set during season 4. AU.

A/N: For those readers who have just stumbled across my work for the first time, welcome. This story is a direct sequel to my earlier story "Competing with Cam." Now, you don't necessarily need to have read that story to understand this one, but it might help. The short summary is, during the early events of season 2, Brennan successfully bagged herself a Booth. They have been in a romantic relationship since that point in time. This story takes place during early season 4. One should assume that, unless an event directly conflicts with the idea of Brennan and Booth being in a romantic relationship, then it can be considered as having happened in this story. I'm only going to deviate from episodes on those things that would effect the BB relationship issue. For those who are also wondering, this story will continue the light and fun and sexy tone of "Competing with Cam"… at least, I hope that's the vibe you were getting from that story because that's what I was going for… I don't know if I can fairly call this a pwp story since a little story arc sneaked in (a la the story summary), but it is definitely fluff and will contain a fair amount of smut, as evidenced by the rating bump from "Competing with Cam." If you have a problem with that, then vaya con Dios and happy fic hunting. If not, let's get ready to rumble. Enjoy!~

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><p>Prologue – Taking It Seriously<p>

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><p>Any discussion involving sex, Special Agent Seeley J. Booth of the Federal Bureau of Investigations thought, was one that had to be handled very, very, *very* carefully under even the most normal of conditions. However, if one changed normal conditions so that they became abnormal by adding Dr. Temperance Brennan, world-renowned forensic anthropologist, as one of the discussion's primary participants, all bets were off. After being in what could be termed, more or less, a stable, long-term relationship with Brennan for almost two years, no one knew that better than Booth. Expect the unexpected had more or less become Booth's motto since he and Brennan had began dating. It had served him well, thus far, but it also required him to stay more than the two or three steps ahead of Brennan than he usually aimed for on a good day. Now, here in London, Booth felt like being a dozen steps ahead of her still wasn't enough. While the hows and whys of how they had found themselves in their current predicament was not surprising to Booth, it didn't mean that he wasn't frustrated. And, it had all started out so well, with a lot of promise, potential that seemed to evaporate as soon as Booth and Brennan switched from Eastern Standard to Greenwich Mean Time.<p>

It had seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Booth had received an invitation from Scotland Yard to participate in an exchange program as the FBI's representative while a DCI would be sent to Washington to take his place for two weeks. Booth liked the idea as soon as it had been pitched to him because it reminded him of other similar experiences he had enjoyed in the past, like one that had resulted in him getting to stay in Tokyo for a memorable span of time some years earlier. Within only a day or two of Booth getting the offer, and trying to think of a way he could entice Brennan into taking some time off to accompany him, Brennan had also received an invitation from Oxford University to visit the campus to guest lecture as a visiting don on American forensic anthropological theory and methods. Though Brennan steadfastly refused to concede that things like fate and destiny existed – even after all this time, the most that Booth had gotten Brennan to admit was that certain situations could be 'ironic' – Booth saw the arrival of the two invitations within forty-eight hours of each other as kismet. Of course, even though Brennan had wanted to go. she still hemmed and hawed about being away from the lab, squint squad, and her normal work schedule. Booth realized a token protest when he heard one. Even still, as he knew she expected him to do, Booth had laid on the charm with images like London at night, a cozy hotel bed, room service, and the squint squad three thousand miles away not impeding their ability for a bit of personal (read: private) downtime. As anticipated, Brennan had caved instantly. Invitations were accepted, plane and hotel reservations were booked, and Brennan went out to buy a new set of luggage for the trip after her last jaunt to South America had killed her rolling suitcase in an unmerciful and ugly manner.

Yes, all had seemed very promising. And, then Booth and Brennan had arrived in London and had met Dr. Ian Wexler - who was not the charming octogenarian with snowy white hair and a bedtime of 8pm that Booth had intiially imagined. No, instead, as soon as the spry, athletic, and witty forty-something Englishman met them at Gatwick, Booth hell began. The only thing that proved to be true in Booth's original assumption was that he *was* charming... too damn charming, and apparently had more than a slight crush on Brennan. Wexler's actions, flirty looks and sly comments directed to Brennan while he almost exclusively ignored Booth, seemed to compound Booth's heretofore unknown hatred of all things English. Amused by his annoyance with both Wexler and English culture, Brennan commented on the irony of his responses, given the fact that half of Booth's family, through his father's side, was of English descent. Brennan may have ventured to make a passing observation along the lines of the fact that, even though she hated psychology, if she hadn't, Booth's reaction could be an interesting commentary on self-hate. However, the scowl Booth shot Brennan silenced her from sharing any other witicisms, and the pair hadn't actually resumed any prolonged conversations of a personal nature once they became involved in the murder investigation of Portia Frampton – until, with Brennan's normally stupendous timing, this very moment, it appeared to Booth.

They sat in the rental car that Booth was coming to hate more than clowns, the idea of Brennan with a gun, and Dr. Ian Wexler all combined together when she suddenly stopped talking about the Frampton case and quickly shifted the topic of discussion.

"You still appear to be very stressed, Booth. Would it make you less agitated if I told you that I didn't sleep with Dr. Wexler last night?" Brennan asked.

"What?" Booth said, turning his head quickly in Brennan's direction. "What the hell, Bones? Of course, I know that."

"I did go to dinner with him, and we were quite late in returning to the hotel," Brennan pointed out. "I just didn't want you to think that Ian had been successful in attempting to seduce me into a sexual encounter."

"I know you wouldn't cheat on me, Bones," Booth muttered. "You know I trust you."

"Yes, but even still," Brennan agreed. "I also know that you sometimes need to have a constant verbal reassurance to bolster your confidence in situations where you feel insecure, and it's seemed as if, since we got here, that you've been very sensitive about our relationship—"

"I don't feel insecure," Booth told her. "I'm fine. Wexler, he just… I don't like him, Bones. And, I'm perfectly capable of not liking a guy without feeling insecure."

"So, you're saying the reason you don't like Ian is because he's been trying to sexually proposition me for days, and after witnessing such blatant and continued intrusions into a social space to which you have proprietary rights, his actions don't make you feel threatened?" Brennan asked.

"Did you just refer to yourself as a social space?" Booth asked, a bit amused and exasperated at the same time.

"Yes," Brennan said. "In this particular context—"

"And," Booth interrupted her. "Did you just admit I have proprietary rights to said social space, which you just admitted is in reference to yourself"

Her lips pursing a bit in annoyance, Brennan immediately knew what inference Booth was drawing as she attempted to interrupt his chain of reasoning with an emphatic shake of her head despite her verbal agreement with Booth's assessment. "Yes, I did. But, only—"

"Naw uh, Bones," Booth said, with a cheeky smile coming onto his face, interrupting her. "Stop right there. You just admitted I own you."

"That is a gross mistatement of fact, Booth," Brennan retorted, mildly annoyed. "Now, quite trying to bait me with your alpha male behavior and stop trying to deflect the conversation from the focus of your sexual insecurities that I believe have resulted from an increased level of agitation that you've been displaying for several days now."

"I'm not sexually insecure!" Booth yelled, a bit too loudly. Lowering his voice, Booth said, "Okay, look. I'm not agitated because of any sexual... whatever you think I've got, okay? I'm only agitated because of driving this little car, that's all. Look, Wexler is just- I'm not agitated because of you and Dr. Wexler. Wexler's just another guy looking for a one-night stand. That's it."

"So?" Brennan asked.

"So," Booth said.. "He doesn't take it seriously."

Confusion clearly evident on her face, Brennan asked, "Seriously? What do you mean? You never laugh during sex? Because I do-" Brennan interrupted herself to stop to consider her statement. Tilting her head as she mentally replayed several images in her head, Brennan mused, "Hmmm… you don't, do you? I can't remember you ever - whoa, do you see that lorry?"

Sputtering in annoyance, Booth said, "I see that lorry. It's a truck, okay? We're an American, and that is a truck." He then added, again a tad of defensiveness coming into his voice, "And, you already know the answer to that. I laugh during sex."

"No, you don't," Brennan said. "I have an excellent memory, and I must admit that, in all the times we've had sexual intercourse over the past two years, I can't recall a single occasion on when you've laughed."

"I've laughed when we've, ahh… been in bed," Booth muttered, getting a bit red. "You just don't remember—"

"No," Brennan said. "I would remember something like that given its representational value of being a distinction aberration in your pattern of behavior, Booth. You've never laughed when we've had sex."

"Well, neither have you," Booth shot back. "*I'd* remember that. You've never laughed while you've been in bed with me, Bones. Two years. Not once."

Considering his point, Brennan inclined her head at him. "I'm not saying I necessarily agree with that statement, Booth, but I'm willing to admit, that perhaps... *perhaps* it's accurate, but only because I know I wouldn't want to laugh in bed with you lest you to misconstrue my response as a commentary on your skills as a lover and become increasingly insecure sexually about your performance—"

"I do *not* have performance anxiety, Bones!" Booth yelled. Forcing himself to sigh, as he tried to focus on driving the car, Booth said, "It's just, it's not that kind of serious."

"Well, I think Dr. Wexler is serious about having sex with me. Very interested," Brennan said smugly, wanting to tease Booth a bit more, since he seemed to show no indication that he would gain reassurance from her efforts. He was *so* easy to play with sometimes, it made Brennan giddy with amusement.

"Okay, news bulletin for ya, Bones. There's not a guy in this country who wouldn't want to have sex with you, myself included," Booth retorted. "Probably half the gay men, too...whoa, easy."

"So, does that explain why we have not engaged in coitus since we've been here?" Brennan said. "Because, I was beginning to believe that your growing sexual insecurities and increasing agitation might have a correlation with—"

"For the last friggin' time, I'm not sexually insecure, I'm not agitated, you may be mouthy in bed, but you've never, not *once* ever laughed during sex with me, and we haven't had sex because you're never awake in bed long enough for me to make a move, Bones!" Booth rambled.

Brennan stared at him open-mouthed, a bit surprised, but watching him carefully nonetheless. Booth turned a bit redder in the face, but stared back at the window as he maneuvered the car again.

"I've been jet-lagged," Brennan muttered.

"For two weeks?"

"We've been busy—"

"Yeah, well, one might almost take it personally and might think it the weirdest coinkydink ever that you conk out the minute you fall into bed with me and have every night since the same day met Ian-stupid-Wexler," Booth said.

"You're jealous!" Brennan said, suddenly pleased.

"No," Booth said. "You just… like I said, you're special, Bones. And, Wexler's been trying to bed you since he picked us up at the terminal at Gatwick."

"You're being figurative again, aren't you, because, aside from violating several public decency laws, I know that Ian didn't try to initiate sexual intercourse with me at the airport—"

"Wexler's not the only one, you know. Half our flight, three-quarters of his students in that tutorial, and at least every other guy on our hotel floor have been shooting you looks, Bones," Booth said.

"Are you being nice about me or awful about British men?" Brennan asked, an eyebrow arched.

Shaking his head, Booth muttered, "Wexler is not special; you are."

Suddenly, Brennan's phone rang. Picking it up, turning her head away from Booth's direction to concentrate on the phone call, Brennan responded, "Brennan."

Dr. Camille Saroyan's voice came through very distinctly on the line as Booth growled at the car refusing to allow itself to be parked.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Cam's voice came through the line.

Turning her head to look at Booth's scowling face, Brennan said, "No, I... I'm just helping Booth drive."

"Ohhhh," Cam said, instantly grasping the situation. "That's not a good idea, Dr. Brennan. Booth shouldn't be behind the wheel. He isn't adaptable."

"I heard that, Camille!" Booth said loudly. "I'm Mr. Adaptable, okay? And, the mirror is the size of a thumbnail."

Holding the phone a bit away from her mouth, Brennan told him, "Well, what do you expect when you rent a car the size of your thumb?"

Trying to complete the purpose of her call, Cam chimed in, "I don't think there's enough fetal tissue to get a DNA reading, but..."

"Cam, can we just be quiet until we get into the flow of traffic here?"

"I thought you were trying to park," Cam said over the phone's speaker.

Booth scowled again as he heard a colorful metaphor lobbed at him by a random driver passing him. Suddenly, Booth noticed that Brennan had gone quiet. He looked at her, recognized the sign of her brain processing a delayed bit of information.

Turning her head to him, a soft smile playing at the edge of her lips, Brennan asked, "You think I'm special?"

Softening his own reaction in response to hers, Booth nodded and said, "Of course I think that you're special, yes."

Immensely pleased and satisfied, Brennan nodded, "Thank you." She leaned across the small space that separated the passenger's seat from the driver's seat and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "I will take your romantic advice under advisement. Now, you're too far to the left."

His head snapping back to the task of driving, Booth ignored Cam's twitterings through the cell phone as he jerked the steering wheel.

"Ohhh!" Brennan's body tensed as she shouted, "You're gonna hit the curb!"

Immediately, the car finally slid into position, parallel to the curb with a fast jerking sensation. When it stopped, Booth grinned at Brennan with a nod of his head. "See, Bones? I told you. We're good."

Booth's words were ominously followed by a loud pop and the steady sound of air deflating. Brennan inclinedher head in aggravation at Booth, and he merely shook his head, clinched his fists, and again mentally cursed all things English.

* * *

><p>Several days later, things still quite tense with Booth, Brennan was starting to feel overwhelmed between Wexler's murder and the hostility she now felt was being targeted at her by Ian's former partner. Deciding she couldn't stand the increasing negativity anymore, Brennan made the decision to confront Pritchard, assessing it to be the easiest of the three sources of stress to eliminate and remedy.<p>

"Inspector Pritchard?" Brennan began, lengthening her stride to catch up to the detective as Pritchard made her best attempt to distance herself from the forensic anthropologist after they had finished visiting the crime scene of Ian's flat one more time. Brennan knew Pritchard was attempting to avoid her. However, Brennan wouldn't give up that easily, and continued walking and speaking. " I just wanted to—"

Realizing she wouldn't take such a nonverbal hint, Pritchard suddenly stopped and spun on her heels to face Brennan. "Oh, I am not the jealous sort, and you are painfully naïve if you think my sex life was limited to Ian, as I'm sure yours was not."

"Is that what this is about?" Brennan asked. "Is that why you've been so hostile to me?"

"Pardon?" Pritchard asked.

"You're behavior has changed towards me in recent days. Is that because of my relationship with Dr. Wexler?" Brennan inquired.

Pritchard's face tightened, but remained silent. At last she said, "Whatever that status was of your relationship with Dr. Wexler, I can assure you, Dr. Brennan, it's of no consequence to me." She turned away from Brennan and took a step to resume walking to her car.

"But, I didn't sleep with Ian."

Suddenly stopping, Pritchard turned to face Brennan, who had also unceremoniously halted in her stride quite unexpectedly to match Pritchard's sudden cessation of movement.

Her voice a bit softer, Pritchard asked, "You didn't?"

"No," Brennan answered.

A look of obvious confusion washed over Pritchard's face as she replied, "Why not? You obviously fancied each other."

"I can't be dishonest. Yes, I noted several physiological responses to his presence that I had, which can only be explained by a form of sexual attraction—"

"So, why didn't you sleep with him then?" Pritchard asked.

"Well," Brennan said, her tone being the one to soften this time. "Because of Booth."

A look of comprehension suddenly dawned on Pritchard's face as she wagged her index finger lightly in Brennan's direction. "Ohhh, you know, I suspected that you two might be more than just partners."

"Booth advised me not to sleep with Ian because Booth didn't want me to be another notch on Ian's bedpost," Brennan said, neither confirming nor denying Pritchard's assumption.

"See, I rather saw it as climbing Everest. Of course, it's been done before but the experience is still breathtaking," Pritchard said wistfully, her eyes trailing off at a spot on the horizon as she seemed to be lost for a minute or two in her own thoughts and memories.

Eventually, with as much admiration and approval as she could muster in her tone, Brennan said, "You have a strong sexual appetite, and you're not hamstrung by social moralizing. I can empathize with that."

Turning her head back to look at her, Pritchard nodded her own approval. "Thank you."

Inclining her head in the direction of her car, Pritchard resumed walking with Brennan following her down the sidewalk. As they continued on, Brennan at last chanced a question she had been wanting to know for some time.

"Why didn't you tell us you had a relationship with Wexler?" Brennan asked.

Sighing, Pritchard said, "Because, if I told you, I thought you'd report it to Scotland Yard, and then I thought I'd be taken off the case."

"A rational fear—" Brennan agreed.

Pritchard nodded and said, "I mean, if Agent Booth was murdered, wouldn't you do anything in your powers to make sure that you found the killer?"

"Yes, I would," Brennan said simply. She would do more than that, truth to be told. She would not only find the killer, but a small part of Brennan reluctantly admitted that she would probably do everything she could in her power to enact her own plan to plot, carry out, and get away with the perfect murder if anyone ever hurt Booth. However, Brennan didn't tell Pritchard any of these details. Instead, she asked, "Have you withheld any other information?"

Shooting her a look, Pritchard asked, "Why on earth would I do that?"

Very matter-of-factly, Brennan explained her chain of logical reasoning to Pritchard. "Because you called a meeting to talk to us, then Clark called to give us cause of death, and then we basically accused you of murder. So while Booth went to get our car, I followed you to your car, and we began discussing mountain climbing and sex with Ian and—"

Chuckling a bit, Pritchard interrupted Brennan as she said, "Yes, thank you, Dr. Brennan. I believe I'm up to date now." Reaching her car, she stopped and opened the driver's side door. However, suddenly snapping her fingers, Pritchard said, "Oh! You are absolutely right. I did forget to give you this." Reaching into her purse, Pritchard withdrew an envelope and gave it to Brennan.

Looking at the envelope with a burning curiosity plainly evident in her gaze, Brennan reached for it and then quickly tore it open. Taking out the single piece of paper that lay folded inside the envelope, Brennan quickly unfolded it and scanned its contents. Turning her gaze to meet Pritchard's Brennan said, "Hmm. It's a writ of release on Frampton's building site."

"Yes," Pritchard agreed. "The site has been certified as having no historical importance whatsoever. Signed and dated, Dr. Ian Wexler - shortly before his death."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Brennan said, "This document would be worth millions of dollars to Frampton."

"Then, I suggest that you and Agent Booth ask Mr. Frampton if he forced Ian to sign that before killing him," Pritchard told Brennan.

"Okay," Brennan said with a nod.

Looking at her with an apprising stare, Pritchard said, "So, can I offer you a ride, Dr. Brennan?"

Brennan considered Pritchard's words. "I don't wish to impose."

"I wouldn't have made the initial offer if I considered it to be an imposition," Pritchard said.

"Then, yes," Brennan said. "It would be a very considerate gesture which I would greatly appreciate."

"Come on, then," Pritchard nodded. "Get in, and I'll take you back to your Agent Booth."

"He's not mine in the strictest sense of—" Brennan began to protest.

"Oh, word to the wise, Dr. Brennan. I'd encourage you not to forego Everest," Pritchard said, with a knowing look to the forensic anthropologist.

Her words echoing her earlier sentiments about Wexler, in confusion, Brennan said, "Well, it's too late. Ian's dead."

Not sure whether Brennan was being genuinely obtuse or just actually could be that naïve, Pritchard smiled and merely said, "Oh, yes, of course. To whom else would I be referring other than Ian?"

* * *

><p>Several days later, on their final night in London, Booth held Brennan in his arms. Despite the heat that had been generated by their earlier activities, a chill in the air had caused Booth to wrap his arms around Brennan and cover them in the bed's down comforter as they chatted in a drowsy haze that usually settled over the pair after any particular vigorous round of lovemaking… of which, this particular session, had most definitely been.<p>

"So, no more jet lag?" Booth said, a teasing note coming into his voice.

Brennan, who lay nestled against the crook of Booth's side, snuggled in a bit more closely. Sighing in contentment, Brennan shook her head as she said, "No."

"That was a hell of a lot of jet lag, Bones," Booth joked. "Does this mean when we get back home that we won't be having sex for another month due to the rigors that trans-Atlantic flight seems to have on your delicate constitution?"

Taking her finger and poking him in the stomach, Booth guffawed as Brennan said, "Very amusing, Booth."

"I thought so," he chuckled.

"I'm *not* delicate," Brennan said.

"Of course, you're not," Booth humored her.

Brennan poked him again.

"Hey!" Booth protested. "Cut that out."

"Then stop teasing me," Brennan said.

"You deserve it," Booth laughed. "Do you know that before I left, Pritchard threatened to confiscate my Bobbie Bobblehead if I didn't give her an honest answer to a certain question she had?"

"And, what was that?" Brennan said, her head rising in curiosity.

"Apparently," Booth said. "Pritchard was somewhat confused at to the exact nature of my relationship with my partner."

"Did she proposition you?' Brennan said, sitting up a bit, a flush of warmth shooting down her body as she tensed in anticipation of Booth's response.

Recognizing Brennan's reaction, Booth pulled her to him and gave her a very long and very involved kiss. Immediately, the tension that had manifested in Brennan's frame at the mere mention of Pritchard disappeared. Once more, Brennan was a warm pile of malleable goo in Booth's hands… the exact way her usually liked her best.

Brennan watched Booth, and said, "Why did you do that?"

"Do what, Bones?"

"Kiss me," Brennan said. "Why did you kiss me like that just now?"

"Because," Booth said, rubbing her upper arm in short, but reassuring strokes. "You're very cute when you get jealous, but I also thought it might be a good idea to diffuse the situation before you marched straight over to Pritch's flat and called her out for some type of girl-on-girl smackdown to make certain she understands the fact that your territory is sacrosanct and uncontestable."

Brennan considered his words for a few seconds before she said, "So, does this mean, in your euphemism, that you referred to yourself as my territory?"

"Maybe," Booth admitted with a wink. "But, don't let that go to your head, Bones."

"So, what did you tell Pritchard?" Brennan said, ignoring Booth's taunt.

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth said, "Oh, you know. The normal stuff."

"What normal stuff?"

"What we usually tell people. We're partners, and we have a terrific sex life that's immensely gratifying and satisfying, and have for almost two years," Booth said.

"She didn't believe you, did she?" Brennan said, arching her eyebrow at him.

Shaking his head, Booth said, "Nope. What did you tell her anyway?"

"The truth," Brennan said. "Or, most of it, anyway."

"Yeah, well, is it just me, or do you find it as funny as hell that for the first two years we knew each other, everyone thought we were having sex when we weren't. Now that we actually are in a relationship, we've spent the past two years telling everyone that we are having sex, and no one believes us besides Hodgins, Angela, and Cam," Booth said.

"You mean, do I find the irony amusing?" Brennan asked.

Booth nodded.

"It *is* highly ironic," Brennan conceded. "However, I think the even more important issue here is to discuss the situation regarding your claims about whether you do or do not laugh during sex."

At this, Booth groaned. Shaking his head, he said, "I thought you'd forgotten about that one."

"I never forget anything, Booth," Brennan said. "I have an *excellent* memory. You know that."

"Yeah," Booth admitted. "But, maybe *I* was kinda hoping to forget about it for a minute."

"Why?" Brennan asked. "Does this mean that you're willing to admit that you were wrong about making the claim that you've ever laughed while you've had sex with me?"

"No," Booth said. "Just like I'm sure this doesn't mean that you're willing to admit that you've never laughed when you've been in bed with me?"

"That is factually inaccurate—"

"You're wrong—"

Suddenly, Brennan, took her hand and placed a finger to Booth's lips. Very familiar with how the such an ensuing exchange would likely proceed between the two bantering partners if she didn't do something to interrupt it… more heated exchange, more taunting, followed by a physical movement by one them that would result in another sexual encounter – particularly as they were *already* naked and in bed with one another - and distract them from the topic of discussion at hand, Brennan smiled at Booth instead.

"Can we stop for just one minute?" she asked.

Nodding, a wry grin coming onto his face, Booth waited for Brennan to remove her finger and explain before offering a verbal response to her actions.

"If," Brennan began, an idea suddenly percolating in her mind, "Neither one of us had to concede we had been incorrect regarding the issue of whether either one of us has actually laughed in bed with the other in the past, would you be willing to conduct a little experiment to see who actually does laugh during sex in the present?"

"Such as?" Booth asked, suddenly becoming interested in Brennan's line of reasoning.

"For a predetermined period of time," Brennan said. "We'll keep track of who actually laughs during any sexual encounter we have in order to establish a solid evidentiary baseline to see who's claim is more accurate."

"How long?" Booth asked.

"What would you suggest?" Brennan replied.

"A month?"

"Mmmmm," Brennan said, a small frown coming onto her face. "That might not be a large enough sample size, Booth. Since there's no real way to anticipate how many sexual encounters we might have in one predetermined period of time—"

"I'm not scheduling when we have sex, Bones," Booth interrupted her. "I've come not to mind a lot of your little quirks with the lists and calendars, but we aren't doing that."

"Nor would I ask you to," Brennan reassured him. "That's not what I meant, honestly. Given the unpredictability of our work schedules, combined with your custody visitations with Parker, my writing obligations, and our own inability to know when we might need sexual gratification, planning such encounters would be almost illogical given the impossibilty of an prearranged schedule designed to achieve an optimum outcome of sexual graitifcation."

"Okay," Booth agreed. "Then, how long?"

"Ninety days?" Brennan asked. "It's a fairly standard time sample."

"So," Booth said, "For a period of three months, we keep track of who can get the other one to laugh during sex."

"Yes," Brennan said. "And, if either one of us succeeds, than we'll know who was really telling the truth earlier."

"Hmmm, I don't know Bones," Booth said. "It seems like a fairly anticlimactic ending to something that could have a lot of potential. I mean… just bragging rights? That's it?"

"Why do I get the feeling you are going to take the suggestion of this scenario in a more competitive spirit than which I had originally intended or envisioned?" Brennan laughed.

"Things are always competitive with us, Bones. I thought you knew that," Booth chuckled.

Leaning in close to him, Brennan placed a light kiss on his lips. "I do. And, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Then," Booth said tentatively. "Does that mean that you'd be open to making this a bit more interesting?"

"What do you propose?"

"If I get you to laugh during sex more times in that 90-day period than you get me to laugh, at the end of it, as the winner, I get to pick out what clothes you wear for a month," Booth said.

Immediately, Brennan frowned, thinking of how Booth's taste in her clothing seemed to mirror Angela's style more than her own. She specifically flashed back to a certain black dress and heels in Vegas and Booth's claims of Brennan needing to be less like a school teacher spinster who lived with her sister and more like the hot one that drove all the boys crazy. Shaking her head in reluctance, Brennan said, "I don't know. The last time I let you pick out one of my outfits for the Jeffersonian Benefit Gala, I almost ended up having my breasts fall out of the bodice when you dipped me as we danced—"

"Oh, come on!" Booth immediately protested. "I said I was sorry about that, Bones. It was an accident. And, nobody really saw anything anyway—"

"You did," Brennan countered. "And, oogled me for several very long seconds as I recall."

Properly chastised, Booth said, "Well, yeah, but I'm me. I'm allowed to oogle."

"And the master of the bandstand?"

"He didn't see anything," Booth said. "At least, I don't think he did."

"Even still—"

"Oh, come on, Bones," Booth said, pulling her to him with a grin on his face. "It's not like it's that big a deal since you think you're going to win anyway, right?"

"True," Brennan conceded. "And, if I did win, then I would get something equally appealing to me, correct?"

"What'd ya have in mind?" Booth asked, a bit of uncertainty coming into his voice.

"You have to go with me to buy a gun," Brennan said, a sly look coming onto her face.

"Oh, no!" Booth said, immediately sitting up straight in bed and shaking his head in protest. "No, no, no. No guns, Bones. You know the rules."

"Why?" Brennan countered. "It's not like you'd be agreeing to let me take it into the field. You just have to come with me when I buy one. You know I've always wanted to go to that dealer in Cheverley where all the agents get their ammunition. He usually won't sell to civilians."

"How do you even know that?" Booth said.

"Because," Brennan said. "Jester's one of the best gun dealers in the entire DC Metro area, Booth. I did my research. Now, if you-"

"Nope," Booth repeated emphatically. "No, no, no. Not gonna happen, Bones."

"Oh, come on, Booth. What's the big deal?" Brennan parroted his words back at him, an evil grin coming onto her face. "It's not like you're not going to win anyway, right?"

Booth pursed his lips together and pointed at her, the taunt clearly working its magic. "You know what? Okay, fine."

"Excellent—"

"But, just to be clear, if I win, I get to pick out all your clothing, for an *entire* month… and that means everything from your bras and panties to your shoes and everything else in-between… all the time. Work, casual, dates. The whole she-bang," Booth said.

Brennan laughed. "I had no idea that you were this controlling, Booth. Even though I don't, if one gave any credence to the field of psychology, one might almost see your position as an attempt to dominate me into submission."

"I just have better taste in clothing than you do, Miss Buys-all-her-clothes-at-Frumpy's-R-Us. Now, do we have a deal?" Booth said.

"A real gun," Brennan specified. "As in, an actual working firearm from Jester that can shoot bullets at things. Not any model, replica, or toy handgun, Booth."

"I got ya, Bones. A real gun that goes bang. From Jester's. Fine," Booth said. "So, we agreed or what?"

Extending her hand so that Booth could shake it, Brennan said with a sure smile, "Agreed."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p>

A/N2: I know this is almost unheard of for me to put a second author's note in a story, but I did want to convey a bit of information. Some of my regular readers may have noticed a lag in my posting schedule of the normal rotation of my story updates, most notably "More from Brennan's Journal" and "Revisiting a Big Mistake." The bad news is that I'm behind on those stories because of the good news I have to share - at least, I thinnk it's good news. The past few weeks, I've been working on a new story with a co-writer that shall be named shortly (she doesn't know I'm posting this note here yet, so I don't want to surprise her too much until I tell her the cat's almost out of the bag). The experiment started out as what was supposed to be a simple hot smut piece of BB goodness... and, like, with most things I get involved in, its developed into something much, much more. We're going to be posting the first part here at ff dot net very soon under her account to start and then posting the second part under my name. For those interested, keep a look out. All I'll say is that the title is "Costly Signals" and when you see it pop up on the Bones section, yeah, that's the one I meant, it's half mine. It's been a REALLY fun collaboration, and I've very excited about it. So, if the impending smutty goodness of this story isn't enough for you, keep your eyes peeled because it's definitely one of the hottest things I ever read in fanfic, let alone written, and lucky for all you readers who are so inclined, it's coming soon to a Bones fanfic section near you. Stay tuned. :)~


	2. Ch 1: She Didn't Forgo Everest

Laughing during Sex

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Now that Booth and Brennan have finally hooked up, why will no one believe that they're actually together… and to what lengths will they have to go to prove it? Fluff and smut abound. Set during season 4. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 1 – She Didn't Forgo Everest<span>

* * *

><p>As the pair of investigators sat in Booth's car, the engine gently humming in neutral as they waited in line at a nearby gas station that possessed a touchless car wash that was of a size and nature that wouldn't harm Booth's SUV, he eventually looked over at his partner and sighed again.<p>

"You know," he began. "At the very least, it would be good if he'd called first."

Shrugging her shoulders slightly, Brennan said, "Why?"

"Well, I mean," Booth began. "The way he just showed up this morning, it was like he didn't even know that you were dating."

Turning slightly in her seat, Brennan looked at her partner and realized that Booth was still a bit sensitive about their early-morning guest. Hoping to make him feel better, she wondered if perhaps humor would be the best approach. Smiling, she responded, "Well, I wouldn't call it dating." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Brennan knew she'd made a mistake as Booth's eyes widened.

"Oh, really?" he asked, a sharp tone in his voice "Then, after two years and four months, what would you call it?"

"I would say that we occasionally make arrangements to spend time together," Brennan said, hoping she might be able to diffuse some of Booth's obvious ire. He again blinked at her, and Brennan sighed as finally gave up and said, "That was a joke, Booth."

"And, not a very funny one, Bones," he said as he turned his head and looked straight out the driver's side of the windshield.

Reaching out, Brennan put a light hand on Booth's arm. "I would say, by the way, that what we have goes far beyond mere dating, Booth." At her gentle tone, the affronted look on Booth's face softened a bit as he turned and glanced over at Brennan. "It pleases me immensely to say that we're in a committed long-term romantic relationship.'

"Monogamous," Booth said, a bit of a pout still on his face. Pointing at her with his index finger, he added, "You forgot the 'monogamous' part."

"Of course," she said with a nod of acknowledgement. "My apologies. I'm extremely pleased that we're in a committed, long-term _monogamous_, romantic relationship."

"Yeah," Booth said with a grunt. "That's right. And, maybe you should make that part clear again if Mr. Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch gets any funny ideas."

Sighing, Brennan said, "I'm sorry. When we last spoke, I only intimated that I wanted to see Mark because I thought he might be a nice person that I could offer to set Angela up with on a dinner date given that she's been rather listless and in need of company in the aftermath of her cessation of an intimate relationship with Dr. Hodgins."

"Wait," Booth said, totally shifting further in his seat to face Brennan. "You're telling me that the only reason you took Marcus Welby's call was because you wanted to fix him up with Angela because you're getting tired of all the emergency girl's night outs that she's guilted you into recently?"

"Well," Brennan said, knowing that Booth had pegged the situation exactly, but not wanting to admit, it lest she feel more guilty than she already. But, truth to be told, she _was _getting tired of Angela's recent routine of consuming a concerning numbers of half-gallons of Breyer's Cookies and Cream icecream, watching endless hours of romantic 'chick flicks', and being sequestered for far too many hours at a time in either Brennan or Angela's apartments with only one another for company. "It has been some time since you and I have been able to spend a significant amount of time together since our return from the United Kingdom."

"Ohhhh," Booth suddenly said as a knowing look came into his eyes. "I get it now."

"What?" Brennan asked.

"This isn't because you're tired of spending time with Angela," he told her. "This has to do with the fact that you're worked up and are tired of not having any time to…ahh…spend with me," he suddenly said with a small smirk coming on to his face. "That's it, isn't it?" he nodded at her.

"Why would you say that?" Brennan said.

"Because," Booth said, smirking a bit. "We haven't had sex in two weeks."

"We've both been busy," Brennan said instantly.

"You know," he said with his grin getting larger. "I knew something's been off with you. At first, I thought it was just because you were getting snippy because you've been Angela-ed-out, but that's not it at all, is it?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes as she stared at Booth and then said, "Are you implying that I wanted to set Mark and Angela up on a date because I wish Angela to be distracted long enough so that you and I can have enough free time to engage in sexual activities?"

"Yup," Booth replied with a sharp nod of his head. "But, I'm not only implying it, Bones—I'm coming straight out and saying it. You wanted to use the Wannabe Mark Walberg to pawn off on Angela so that you actually had enough time to get in the mood."

"You have no proof of that," Brennan said as she shook her head slightly to emphasize her point.

"Admit it, Bones," Booth laughed. "You took the brunette eye candy's call because you're horny."

"Since I assume that you're not referring to yourself as the brunette eyecandy—" Brennan stopped when Booth raised an eyebrow at her words. Seeing the look he gave her, sighing, Brennan knew when she was beat and her tone changed as she said, "You have to admit that we've had precious little time alone over the past couple of weeks. Between our work load, your visitation with Parker, and my best friend duties with Angela, aside from time we've spent on cases, when we say good night when we go to sleep and when we say good morning when we wake up, there hasn't been a lot of time for us to be intimate."

Grinning, Booth said, "Miss Queen of the Biological urges…huh...the urges were finally getting to you, huh, Bones?" He started to snicker, but then suddenly stopped and added, "You know…how long did you date Marco Polo there?"

"Ummm, well," Brennan said. "Like I said, we didn't really date."

"Well, from the look of the guy I don't know why you would've been involved with him anyway. I'm just surprised you weren't more picky," Booth shrugged.

Smiling a bit as a memory flashed in her mind, Brennan said, "My relationship with Mark was purely physical, and I was _very_ satisfied with him in that area. Did you see his chest and his thighs?"

"Bones—" Booth began, apparently not having processed her words as he suddenly stopped and changed gears as he looked at her with an arched eyebrow and asked, "What?"

"Haven't you chosen someone because they were satisfying sexually?" she grinned at him.

"There has to be more than sex," Booth said with a shake of his head.

"Not always," Brennan replied. "Not really. Our interests and professions did not intersect."

"Well, what is he? Bricklayer? You know, truck driver? Tango dancer?" Booth joked.

Shaking her head, Brennan replied, "He is a deep-sea welder."

"Wow," Booth snickered as he shook his head. "I wouldn't even think to put that on the list."

"Well, they work on oil derricks, repair boats. After being at sea for months at a time, he seemed to enjoy having a sexual relationship, so—" Brennan said, letting her voice trail off lest she irritate Booth _too _much with tales of her former lovers.

"I'm sure. I am sure," he muttered. "Deep-sea welder," he mumbled with another shake of his head.

Unable to help herself, Brennan grinned as she said, "He can hold his breath for three minutes down there."

At her words, Booth's head snapped up as he looked over at her and he asked, "Underwater?"

Biting back a grin, Brennan nodded as she answered, "Of course." She stopped and then said, "Where did you think I meant, Booth?"

Blushing slightly, he shook his head as he said, "Oh, I don't know, Bones."

"You thought I was insinuating something about his ability to hold his breath while engaging in cunnilingus," she retorted, clearly enjoying making Booth squirm.

"I didn't say that," Booth responded, a bit too quickly to be anything but a defensive response. Forcing himself to take a breath, he looked over at her, as he repeated in a firm and calmly measured voice, "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," Brennan said with a chuckle. She then stopped as she reached over and let her hand rest lightly on his thigh before she said, "And, just for the record, Booth—I've always found that it wasn't about breathing, but more about tongue technique for the most talented men who've gone down on me over the years."

His head turning slowly, he smiled slightly as he said, "I hope I'm included in that group, Bones."

"Oh, you most _definitely _are, Booth," Brennan grinned. "You most definitely are."

Smiling a goofy grin, Booth tapped on the SUV's accelerator as he guided the SUV into the carwash when they saw it was now their turn. As the wash cycle started, Brennan tapped on his thigh as she asked, "Why are we doing this again when we have remains to get to?"

"I've got to take the Sequoia into the motor pool later for a 3000-mile checkup," Booth said. "They get pissy if the car isn't up to specs when they do the standard checkins, so I know from past experience that a quick run through the carwash will save me a lot of grief later on—and, since I don't know how long we'll be at the scene, I may not have time to run back by this side of town for a wash before I have to take it in this afternoon."

"Ahhh," Brennan said. "Logical." Her fingers continued to dance along the edge of his thigh. Her lingering touch wasn't lost on Booth as he looked over at her.

"What are you up to?" he asked, surprised at how rough his voice had already become at the lightest touch of her fingertips on his clothed skin.

"Nothing," Brennan said, giving him a sultry smile.

"Right," Booth grinned with a small shake of his head. "Nice try, Bones."

"What?" she replied, the perfect picture of innocence as she smiled at him.

"I know that look, Bones," Booth said, wagging his finger at her. "I know that look, and I know that voice."

"Oh?" she asked. "And, pray tell, what look and tone of voice have I just demonstrated, Booth?"

"The one where you're gonna give me that 'come hither' look that gets me hard in about six seconds flat before one of us then jumps the other one in less than thirty seconds," he said, his tone still playful and light.

"Well," Brennan said, chuckling lightly. "Seeing how logistically it would be almost impossible for one of us to jump on the other to initiate a sexual encounter given our current seating in the SUV, I think you must be wrong, Booth."

"Oh?" he said, rising to the challenge that Brennan had thrown down at him—just as she knew he would. "And, you're certain about that?"

"I'm certain that you may not be as correct in your assumptions as you think you are," Brennan mildly taunted him.

Glancing at the water falling over the windows of the car, quickly followed by an excessive amount of sudsy soap coating their windows to give them a fair modicum of privacy, Booth guesstimated that he had between three and five minutes before the wash cycle would be done. Deciding that if Brennan wanted to play, he was game, he double-checked to make certain the car was in park before he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to fully face his partner.

"I may not be able to do anything about that whole hold-my-breath-for-three minutes thing," he nodded at her as his hand snuck over and crept finger tip by finger tip up her thigh and towards the single button of Brennan's black pant suit. "But, I think I might be able to at least start to make a case for my talents—"

"Not that you really need one," Brennan murmured, as she closed her eyes and arched her back into the passenger's seat as he toyed with the zipper on her trousers.

"But," Booth said, grinning. "At the very least, I can prove that you're wet right now."

"You think I'm sexually aroused?" Brennan asked, knowing the slight flaring of her nostrils, the warm and rosy flush of her skin that was visible on her chest, neck, and cheeks, and the shallow rise and fall of her chest were already giving her away anyway.

"I know it," he responded quite confidently. "But, since you're always the stubborn little empiricist that needs evidence, I guess I'll just have to see what's going on down here, huh?"

As if to illustrate his point, Booth quickly undid her trouser's single button and pulled the zipper down with a sound that made Brennan shiver almost as much as she felt thanks to the light, but determined touch of his fingers on her body. Dipping inside her pants, he used two fingers to quickly trace a line over the soft curls hidden by her panties and over the curve that led its way down to her warm folds. As he'd suspected, Booth found the cotton material of her nude colored panties already damp to the touch. To make his point, he moved his index and middle finger up and down the her unparted slit. Brennan hissed at the movement, her eyes clenched shut as her hips bucked a bit at his ministrations.

Licking his lips in anticipation, Booth watched in pleasure as he saw Brennan contort a bit as he increased the movement of his fingers and finally a sigh groan escaped his lips.

"So," he finally managed to ask her, his voice heavy with want as he shifted uncomfortably in his own seat as his cock got hard at the sight of Brennan squirming at his touch. "You still think you can convince me that you weren't thinking about sex there, Bones?"

Not waiting for her response, so there'd be no mistaking his point, Booth's index finger snuck its way under the side of her panties. Brennan's knees fell wider a part as she leaned further back into the seat, her head pressed against the headrest as she squeezed her eyes shut when she felt him continue to touch her.

"You're teasing me," she finally rasped.

"Uh huh," he said, his finger now sliding smoothly in the wetness of her fluids as he traced a line from the bottom of her slit to the top and back again. Brennan whimpered lightly each time he did it. Quite pleased with the results, Booth grinned evilly, and if she'd seen that grin, Brennan might've known what he was up to as his index finger rose higher on its last ascent so that it came to her clit. Slowly, but steadily, Booth applied a firm pressure in a way that he knew from their past lovemaking had driven Brennan wild. Rubbing her clit with a languid stroke, Booth's grin got even wider as he heard a choked and unintelligible response escape Brennan's lips.

"_Unnnngggghhhlllggg_," she moaned, against thrusting her hips at his touch.

"Bones?" he teased.

"Faster," she pleaded suddenly. "Please, Booth—faster."

Suddenly realizing that it was no longer merely about teasing her, Booth willingly complied with her request as he again rubbed her clit. Whimpering at his touch, suddenly Brennan's hand came down on top of his. Pushing his hand further down, she wordlessly urged him to dive more deeply into her wet folds.

"Inside me," she finally begged, her blue eyes opening to meet his with a cloudy hazy of lust clearly present as she built towards her orgasm. "I need to come, Booth," she told him. "Please—inside me."

Nodding once, he smiled as he all too happily dipped his fingers into her dripping pussy and began to pump in and out of her. After only a few strokes, he felt her walls tighten around him. If _that_ particular tell-tale sign hadn't been enough to let him know that Brennan had climaxed, the half-cry, half-giggle she made at achieving her release merely confirmed his suspicion.

After a few seconds, unable to help himself as he suddenly became aware of his own strained erection, Booth pulled his fingers out of Brennan, lifted them to his mouth, and sucked on them as he savored the sweet taste of her. "Perfect," he growled, licking each one clean. "So fucking perfect."

"Mmmmm," was all she could manage to respond with an indolent smile on her lips.

Suddenly unable to help himself any longer, Booth leaned over and was about to kiss Brennan when the piercing honk of a car horn emanated from behind them. Startled, Booth pulled away and looked in his rearview mirror. A car was waiting for them to exit the wash that had just completed its final drying cycle. Wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel, and glancing over at a thoroughly relaxed Brennan who gave him an apologetic shrug, Booth had no choice but to put the SUV in drive and exit the wash.

"Damn," he muttered with a shake of his head. "Damn it all to hell."

"I'm sorry," Brennan finally murmured as they pulled out of the car wash. "But, since we've gotten your car wash, and since we're late to the crime scene already, until I can square things away later with you, perhaps it might be wise to recite some of those saint names and martyrdom dates that you're so found of so that you haven't turned entirely blue by the time we get to where your FBI techs are, no doubt, compromising my remains?"

Shooting her a look of annoyance, Booth muttered, "Real funny, Bones. Real funny."

Smiling at him, she nodded genially. "I thought so as I am _quite _amusing, Booth."

"Right," he muttered again. "You're really fucking hysterical sometimes, Bones."

Reaching over, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek before she sat back in her seat and pointed a finger at him. "And, don't forget to re-fasten your seatbelt."

Booth shot her a dirty look as he muttered a sick word that encapsulated his entire sudden change of mood.

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Brennan was having a fairly involved discussion with Booth that had begun when he told her that he couldn't go with her to a foreign language film screening at American to which she'd been invited. The pair were in his office at the Hoover Building talking about both the film and their current case.<p>

"Look," Brennan said. "I don't see what the big deal is. You said you didn't want to go. Fine. I still do, and I don't want to go by myself, so I'm going to go with one of the professors I know in the biology department."

"I told you," Booth said with a shake of his head. "If you want to go, go. I don't care. I just—I just don't understand why you have to go with another guy."

"Because he asked me if I would be attending via email this morning?" Brennan offered by way of an answer.

"And," Booth nodded at her. "You're sure…he knows…he knows you're off the market, right, Bones?"

"Oh," Brennan chuckled, a sudden look coming onto her face. "So, that's what this is really about?"

"What?" Booth asked her, a bit of his brow furrowing in worry as he looked at her amused gaze.

"You're worried," she said. "You're worried he's going to hit on me again."

"Well," Booth grimaced. "You can hardly blame me because you did say this is the same dweeb that felt you up at the department Christmas party you dragged me to."

"Only after you dragged me to the one at the Hoover," Brennan countered, folding her arms.

"Well," Booth said. "It did seem like the best way to get it through everyone's thick skulls that we aren't just partners. But, it didn't seem to work too well since Dr. Doorkus couldn't keep his hands off of you."

"Considering the fact that the party was more than six months ago, and I hadn't heard from him in all that time before this week, I'd say that you intimidated him fairly well when you pulled out your badge, gun, and handcuffs and explained to him the finer points of the statute definition of assault," Brennan said.

"Yeah, well maybe I need to go remind him again," Booth grumbled.

Coming up next to him, somewhat uncharacteristically given the fact that they were in the professional setting of the Hoover Building—even if they were currently alone in his office—Brennan pulled him to her and gave him a light kiss on the lips.

"You don't need to worry," Brennan reassured him. "I'd never cheat on you, Booth."

"I know that, Bones," Booth said with a nod. "It's just the other jerkwad that I'm worried about."

"Your concern is sweet, but I can take care of myself, Booth," she smiled at him. "As you well know."

"Like I said, Bones, it's not you that I'm worried about. It's the other guy, because, well, you know what? You cheat on your spouse, you get what's coming to you," he grunted.

"Setting aside the fact that we aren't married," Brennan said gently, knowing that they were hitting a sore spot for Booth in a number of ways. "Anthropologically, 83 percent of societies are polygamous."

"Now you sound French, okay?" Booth said, and his partner rolled her eyes at him as she knew he was deliberately being obtuse. Ignoring her chiding glare, he continued, "Look, being faithful is what separates us, you know, from the chimps."

Making a slight face, Brennan shook her head as she responded, "No, actually, it's a gene called HAR1F."

"We're talking about the Ten Commandments here, Bones," Booth wagged his finger at her. "'Thou shalt not commit adultery'—one down from your personal favorite, 'Thou shalt not kill'."

Her patience starting to run thin at Booth's religious euphemisms, Brennan couldn't help herself as she said, "Oh, so you also believe that Moses wandered the desert for 40 days, climbed Mount Sinai, at which point a supernatural force carved a convenient list of behavioral guidelines on two pieces of rock?"

"Yeah," Booth nodded, still feeling a bit on edge since they'd only had enough time in the SUV to actually get Brennan off and not him. _Not that it was bad before, _Booth thought to himself. _Because I was perfectly fine with not feeling too horny lately, thank you very much_—_that is, before you did that hot sexy-as-fuck thing that you can do, turn me on like nobody's business, and remind me how long it's been since we've had sex, Bones. So, yeah, I'm a bit on edge, even though I __was__ perfectly fine before you started coming on to me. But, now, instead of staying here with me, and maybe working through these craptastic video tapes half as quickly, so we might be able to get home and spend some real time making headway on that little bet of ours, you're going to that dumb fucking movie with Mr. Metrosexual Chlorophyll-is-Cool, Leaves-of-three, Let-it-be Idiot who's wanted to get in your pants for months. _Looking up at her, a smirk clear on his face, Booth wanted to gall Brennan a bit as he nodded and added, "Yeah. That's why it's on the Supreme Court."

"Fascinating," Brennan muttered. "I had no idea that you possessed such an ardent devotion to letting neoclassical architecture set the moral compass in your life, Booth."

"You know what?" Booth said, taking a step towards her, responding to the snarkiness in her voice as he always did in what was one of his favorite types of their regular foreplay. "Maybe you should call up Mark and ask him to go with you. Then, it'd be a real fun time, huh?"

"I told you," Brennan sighed. "I only talked to Mark—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Booth said with a wave of his hand. "He's just for Angela. Yeah. I know. But, either way, it's too bad, I kinda liked the guy."

"Then, maybe I should see both of them tonight," Brennan said, knowing that her words would piss Booth off even further.

Blinking at her incredulously, Booth asked, "At the same time?"

"Mark and I had a physical connection," Brennan reasoned. "The botanist, while brilliant and fascinating, just...just doesn't appeal to me in that way," she said as she made a face before looking up at him. "Having both of them there, it would be a more balanced evening."

"Okay, so all that stuff you said about monogamy being unnatural from an anthropological perspective—you're just making excuses," Booth said as he jabbed his finger at her.

"I do not make excuses," Brennan contradicted him. Leveling her gaze at him, Brennan said, "Only people who are ashamed make excuses."

"Bones, two guys at the same time, it's not right," he said with a shake of his head. "I mean, that's why they invented dueling."

"Meaning?" she asked. "I know what I'm doing, Booth."

"Meaning," Booth said. "I'm going to have to shoot both of them, aren't I?"

Brennan rolled her eyes at him. "Is this the part of the dialogue where you verbalize your possessive alpha male tendencies now?"

Taking a step closer to her, Booth said. "You know what? My gut says you're going with your gut on this one, and we all know how that ends up—" He took another step forward as he backed Brennan up against his filing cabinet and clearly invaded her personal space with his own body. "Not good."

Booth's face was just a few inches from Brennan's, and she could fell Booth's warm breath on her cheek. Getting a bit dizzy as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, she began to feel lightheaded as she said in a very rough voice, "Just because someone seeks an alternative sexual outlet doesn't mean that they're a coward."

"You have issues," he breathed as he leaned in closer to her and pressed his lips against her jawbone.

"I do not have issues," Brennan murmured as she felt Booth's hands come up to her waist, and he began to caress her hips through the suddenly too rough material of her suit trousers. "But, you have had issues since this morning. You've been grumpy all day."

"Can you blame me?" he finally asked her. "But, quit trying to distract me here, Bones. Like I was saying, I'm not the one with issues—you are. Case in point," he muttered in between kisses. "Deep-sea welder and a botanist."

"God," Brennan moaned as she leaned in for a real kiss. "You're _such_ an easy target sometimes."

"Yeah," Booth moaned into her ear as he eventually pulled away from what was turning into an entirely too inappropriate kiss given their surroundings. "It's kinda like shooting fish in a barrel when I'm this tightly wound and only one of us got off earlier, huh?"

"Not my fault," Brennan murmured. "The wash cycle finished."

"Next time, I'm paying for a second wash," Booth grunted

In a flash of hormonal irrationality, Booth was just about to lean in and see how far he could push Brennan to do something about fulfilling one of his fantasies—something involving her, his desk, and the middle of the workday—when a voice suddenly coughed in his doorway.

Booth sighed as he turned around, looked over his shoulder, and saw Sweets standing there holding a box of video tapes in one hand and pointing at the pair with his other.

"Ha ha," Sweets said as he took at step towards them. "Nice one."

"What, Sweets?" Booth suddenly growled.

"That's a pretty good try, setting me up to think I was walking in on you in a compromising position, but—" Sweets smiled as he walked into the office and set the box of tapes on the edge of the desk. "But, I'm not going to buy it, guys."

"Buy what?" Brennan asked, as she moved away from where Booth had pinned her against the filing cabinet and ducked around to look at Sweets.

"You two," Sweets responded as he wagged his index finger at Booth and Brennan. "I'm still not believing it. I'd know if you two were in a real relationship. I'm quite good at reading people, since that's kinda my thing, and despite your claims to the contrary, you two just don't act like to people who have been dating each other for more than two years."

Brennan stared at Booth. Booth stared at Brennan. Both then stared at Sweets. He smiled, and Booth sighed as Brennan shrugged.

"So," Sweets began with an upbeat tone clearly evident in his demeanor and tone of voice. "Are we ready to look at this evidence, or what?"

* * *

><p>A couple of days after the rather embarrassing discussion in the dinner in which Sweets had admitted that Brennan was 'hot', the forensic anthropologist and the FBI agent once again found themselves in search of the rather colorful character known to the pair only as 'Noel'.<p>

Despite their best efforts to the contrary, neither one of them had actually had much time for one-on-one interactions, although Brennan _had _finally taken pity on Booth in the shower the previous morning and a quickie had satiated him just enough to take the edge of off his aggressive behavior. Having the case touching on so many things that were of a sensitive nature to Booth, particularly ones that required an open discussion of sex in the professional arena, hadn't set well with the FBI agent. The unconnected but recent issues of the welder and the botanist had also annoyed Booth, and although Brennan knew they'd both be fine after a good evening of several hours of uninterrupted and quality one-on-one time, they'd yet to find time to make that necessity a reality.

Unlike the last time when Noel had allowed Booth and Brennan to meet him at the Royal Diner, instead of making it convenient for the pair, he'd had only agreed to meet with Booth in a less 'conspicuous' place now that he'd completed his surveillance of Jim Dodd. Turning a corner, and walking past the familiar entrance of the Founding Fathers, Booth did his best to keep up with Brennan's fast pace as they walked towards a 'wrought iron stoop- approximately a half-block past the entrance to the pub' where Noel had agreed to wait for them.

"God, Bones," Booth grumbled. "In a hurry much?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I don't want to be late and miss our appointment with Noel so that we can get his stalking report."

"Surveillance report," Booth corrected her with a smile.

"Whatever," she said with a slight shrug as they continued to walk at a brusque pace. "I also need to return to the lab as soon as possible, so the less time we waste here, the better. Now, you were saying about the ballistics report on the Capitol Police officer's weapon?"

Nodding, Booth said, "So, Sergeant Diamond's firearm wasn't a match. She wasn't even in town Friday and Monday. She was with her husband fixing her marriage—" He lowered voice as he said in a conspiratorial tone as he completed his sentence in a hushed tone of voice, "—at some tantric sex workshop."

Moving a bit more close to where Booth was walking, Brennan slowed her pace as she gestured at him with her hand as she said, "I've heard that if practiced correctly, tantric sexual techniques can extend orgasms by four to five percent."

A look of awe came across Booth's face, and Brennan had to bit back a smirk as she saw she now definitely had her boyfriend's attention. "Whoa," he said in clear appreciation…and with obvious interest in his voice. Looking over at her, he looked over the edge of his sunglasses and said, "They actually teach _that_?"

Brennan opened her mouth to answer, but found herself cut off from giving a proper response as she felt Booth's hand go to the small of her back, maneuver her slightly off the side walk, and as if by magic, they appeared at the stoop where Noel was waiting for them.

"Teach what?" Noel asked with a curious tilt of his head as he looked up at the pair from where he sat on the stoop with his arms crossed over his knees as he waited for them.

"Extended orgasms through tantric yoga," Brennan said with a smile as she came to stand in front of the stoop.

_Oh, God,_ Booth said. _Not now, Bones. You want to make me squirm by talking about sex in front of people, fine. But, not in front of Noel—we'll be here for hours if you get him started talking about Feng Shui and auras and enemas again, and I'm gonna get nauseous because that guy doesn't know the meaning of TMI, and he just won't shut up._

Trying not to let the exact level of his annoyance grow too great in Brennan's presence, lest she decide she really wanted to play with him, Booth merely shook his head as he said, "No, Bones." Knocking her arm with his, he tried to catch her eyes to try to plead with her, but failed as Brennan looked at Noel. Shaking his head, Booth had to settle for adding, "Don't encourage this guy."

Ignoring Booth, Noel looked away and shook his head as he said, "It's a godly pursuit, man."

"Noel—" Booth began. "Why don't you—"

Suddenly turning his head back to Booth, Noel nodded and said, "You know, tantra would be pretty good for a guy like you if you had the right partner. It would help with some of that bottled up energy with your whole back problem thing there."

"Wait," Booth said, stopping abruptly. "How do you know I have problems with my back?"

Waving a finger absentmindedly in Booth's direction, Noel said, "Man, I can see it all the way over here. You're so tightly wound, your energy is kinked seven or eight times over, at least."

"I know," Brennan laughed nodding at Noel. "Right? I keep telling him that. I think his lower lumbar issues would severely decrease if he merely attempted some basic yoga moves."

"Yoga is for chicks," Booth grunted. "I'm not doing yoga."

"Men who master the basic yoga positions have been known to have stronger and more intense orgasms," Brennan said as she looked at him.

"Wait," Booth said as he slipped off his sunglasses. "I thought you just said that tantra was—"

"Well," Brennan replied, cutting him off. "It is. But, they're all interconnected, Booth. The body and its flexibility—mind/body connections…if you can learn one, you can master the other."

"Listen to her, man," Noel said, an appreciative look coming into his eyes as he nodded at Brennan. "She speaks the truth."

"No, no, no," Booth said with a firm shake of his head. "I'm not gonna talk about my mind, body, and sex with you here."

"No surprise there," Noel said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Your chakras are so out of whack, I'm surprised you can even attain an orgasm."

"Whoa!" Booth said, his face becoming a bit red. "Wait a minute…I-I…that is…my stuff—I do just fine about that, okay, Noel?"

"He does," Brennan said with a firm nod. "As a matter a fact, he did just this morning in the shower. It's not an exaggeration to say that he's very passionate when he has sex."

"Oh?" Noel said with a raised eyebrow. "And, how did he get you to swallow that line, out of curiosity?"

"He didn't get me to swallow any metaphorical line, although Booth has expressed a preference for me to swallow his semen after he's come as opposed to spitting it out," Brennan told Noel. Booth stared her, eyes wide and mouth slack-jawed, clearly shocked at her words. However, not seeing what the big deal was, Brennan added, "Since I've always preferred that as well when I engage in fellatio with my sex partner, it's not really an issue," Brennan said, crossing her arms lightly.

"Bones!" Booth suddenly yelped, his face turning a bright red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "What the hell?"

"What?" she said as she turned to him. "It's true."

"Wait," Noel said with a shake of his wrist. "Are you telling me—" he began as he nodded at Brennan. "That you and Mr. Severely Impaired Sacral Chakra over there have gotten it on?"

"If by 'gotten it on', you mean had sexual intercourse, then yes," Brennan said with a firm nod. "Countless times over the past two years since we embarked on a sexual relationship."

Noel looked Brennan directly in the eyes once and then slowly shook his head. "Nope," he said. "No way."

"What?" Booth said, suddenly jumping back into the conversation. "No way what?"

"Sorry, man," Noel said. "But, there's no way I'm buying it that a guy as tightly wound as you are—and have been for as long as I've known you—managed to unwind long enough to score with this luscious sexual goddess, a very incarnation of Rati herself."

Smiling at the compliment, Brennan said, "Thank you."

"I'm only speaking the truth," Noel nodded at her by way of acknowledgement. "As finely a superb individual as yourself, one who is so clearly in touch with her sensual lusts and carnal passions—well, there's just no way I'm believing that—" Noel used his index finger to point at first Brennan and then Booth to illustrate his points. "—_you_ shacked up with _him_."

"Oh, but we do," Brennan said. "At least three to four times a week…sometimes significantly more than that if our professional responsibilities are reduced or on the weekends when he doesn't have visitation with his son. As a matter a fact, Booth is quite amorous in the mornings. Some of the most intense orgasms we've had have been when either one or the other of us has awakened the other from sleep on a weekend in engage in coitus."

"Bones!" Booth almost howled, his voice cracking with embarrassment.

"What?" she said as she turned to her partner.

"Enough," Booth pleaded. "Please…icks-nay with the details of our sex life, huh?" He then turned to Noel and said, "And, as for you—why don't you believe that she and I have…well…ya know?"

Noel looked at Booth for a second and then said, "The SCA."

"What?" Booth said, a look of confusion coming over his face. "Did you learn something at your meetings for Sexual Compulsives Anonymous that you're projecting again at me, Noel?"

Rolling his eyes, Noel said, "No. And, while I do attend my regular Sexual Compulsives Anonymous Meeting—" he paused as he stared at Booth and then turned to Brennan. "Almost ten months clean, by the way." He then turned back to Booth and said, "You said you wouldn't bring that up again."

"Sorry," Booth said, a bit abashed. "I did promise, didn't I?"

"Yes," Noel said with a clearly annoyed look on his face. He paused and then said, "So, as I was saying, the SCA."

"And, which one is that again?" Booth asked, looking a bit lost.

"The Society for Creative Anachronism," Noel said. He again stopped as he turned to Brennan and clarified, "I'm not a member anymore. I only went to a couple of their meetings when I was trying to decide if I wanted to extend the probationary period of this sexual relationship I was having with this girl that I met at a Starbucks in Chevy Chase. She was a fairly interesting specimen, but when she started talking about how it was her life-long dream to marry another member of the SCA, and just kept blathering on and on about it, I decided enough was enough—and I got while the getting was good. Now, I'm all about trying new things, and trying to not be too judgmental, and I am just speaking from what I saw at those two meetings, but, man—any individual who would willing search for a mate among the ranks of that organization's membership…or try to convert an outsider because their application of qualities they want in a future life mate says 'joint membership in the SCA'…well—" His voice trailed off for a moment before he finished sadly. "Well, like I said, it's just weird—too weird. It's not something to be bragged about or really spoken aloud. I'm sure individually, the SCA members are normal and fine and interesting people…err, at least, most of them probably are most of the time. But, look—when you put those people together in large groups with massive amounts of aluminum foil and duck tape, weird shit starts to happen." He stopped took a breath, and then re-tilted his head to look at Brennan as he nodded, "And, that should tell you something since a guy like me is saying it."

Brennan considered his words and then nodded herself after a few seconds. "Indeed."

"So," Noel said as he turned back to Booth. "Like I said, I saw some scary shit at those two meetings, and one thing I learned is that a guy like you could never hook up with a woman like Rati-incarnate here."

"You learned _that_ at the SCA?" Booth asked, the skepticism clear in his voice.

"Oh, yeah," Noel said with a nod. "Definitely."

"I'm not even going to ask why or how," Booth said as he shook his head.

"That's probably a wise idea," Brennan told her partner. She stopped and then said, "But, just for your own edification, Booth really is my boyfriend and sexual partner and has been for quite some time."

"No way," Noel said with another shake of his head. "There's nothing you could do short of having sex in front of me that would convince me otherwise."

Brennan opened her mouth to address Noel's statement. However, she was cut off as Booth's hand snuck out and quickly slapped against Brennan's mouth, covering it. Turning to Noel, Booth said, "Right. So, anyway…Noel—about Jim Dodd? What've you got?"

His interest clearly refocused by Booth's question, Noel looked up at the FBI agent, nodded once, and then began to speak.

* * *

><p>Later that night, the investigation finally having been solved, Booth and Brennan had finally managed to take some much needed time for themselves. Now, naked and sexually satiated, the pair lay on Brennan's bed. Booth was on his back with Brennan draped over his chest in what was one of her favorite post-sex cuddling positions. Her sheet was lightly covering her as the pair rest in between what was turning out to be a particular vigorous evening of sexual activity. Although Brennan stamina could've allowed her to resume their next go at that very moment, she knew Booth needed a bit of a breather. So, she was lazily passing the time by languidly drawing light circles over his bicep as she smiled and titled her head to look at him.<p>

"Better now?" she eventually asked him.

Swallowing once, his gaze heavy as she nodded at her, Booth said with a contented sigh, "Yes."

"Good," Brennan smiled.

"You know," Booth said as he brought a hand up and began to toy with one of the loose curls that was resting on his chest. "Those asswipes at the lab were damn lucky I didn't shoot them then and there, just FYI."

"Yes," Brennan agreed. "I thought you might actually be the one to finally have things come to dueling, as you'd mentioned earlier, when Mark—"

"Had the fucking gall to ask 'what do you do with this one, Temperance?'" he muttered, completing her sentence.

"You know," she said, chuckling slightly as Booth shook his head, recalling his ire at having to remind both men that Brennan was off the proverbial meat market—and had been for some time. "There _is_ one thing that is positive that happened because of this case."

"And, what's that?" Booth sighed.

Shifting slightly on top of him, Brennan pulled away from him and smiled as she said, "You did get me to laugh in the SUV today." Tilting her head as she recalled the half-laugh she'd made when she came, Brennan grudgingly admitted, "_Technically_, even if it wasn't intercourse, it was a sexual act, and so you did draw metaphorical first blood in our competition."

As Booth considered her words, a grin replaced the look of annoyance that had come over his face and stayed there for several minutes. "Hey, that's right, I did, didn't I?"

"Mmmm hmmmm," Brennan said, content for now to let Booth enjoy his victory since it seemed to be a good distraction and balm to his earlier worries. _There's plenty of time for me to even the score_, she thought to herself. _Plenty._

"Heh," he chuckled, as he considered her point. "You know what? I didn't even think of that."

"Good thing I reminded you then," Brennan said, moving her head towards his, a devilish look in her eyes as she slithered up his muscular torso.

"You're very considerate like that," Booth murmured as she pressed her naked body tightly against his.

"So," Brennan said in between kisses. "Does that mean that you're ready to reciprocate some of that due consideration back to me now, or what, Booth?"

Giving her a devilish grin of his own, Booth let his actions be his sole response as he raised his arms, pulled her tightly against him, and rolled them over to show Brennan that break time was definitely over.

* * *

><p><span>-TBC-<span>

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>- So, there we have it. I bet some of you thought I had forgotten about this story, and the answer is: nope. I never forget a story. Sometimes, things just get put off a bit because I got a little lost about how to proceed with this story. I'm still not quite sure if the jive is there or not, but you guys will tell me what you think—good, bad, or ugly? Let me know you're thoughts. No members of the SCA (either Sexual Compulsives Anonymous or the Society for Creative Anachronism) were harmed in the writing of this chapter. Poor Noel came close, but that's all. Ahhh…Noel. He's a rather fun character, isn't he? He might have to make a return appearance at some point, a true fool in the sense of Rosencrantz or Guildenstern, huh?

On another note, remember, the chronology of this battle royale between B&B will loosely follow the chronology of some of the most appropriate scenes from season four that lend themselves to such…sexual overtures. Coming up next—a hopefully new twist on a classic B&B scene as Brennan tries to even the score. Which one, you ask? Well, come on, guys—you gotta know which one? Right? ::pauses:: ::blinks:: ::sighs:: Oh, okay. Fine. Then, here's a few hints since I know you guys know the one I'm talking about: B&B, a plane, a pair of nerdy glasses, and a fantasy about an overdue library book? Ring any bells, or wonder what comes next and want to know all that much sooner? Then, click that 'review button' below and do your wonderful thing to help spur me on to do mine. Until next time!~


	3. Ch 2: Mr Booth's Late Book

Laughing During Sex

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Now that Booth and Brennan have finally hooked up, why will no one believe that they're actually together… and to what lengths will they have to go to prove it? Fluff and smut abound. Set during season 4. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 2 – Mr. Booth's Late Book<span>

* * *

><p>Brennan sat behind her desk, impatiently waiting for a few files that she wanted to take with her on her laptop to transfer from the Jeffersonian intranet to her jumpdrive. Angela watched her friend's brow furrowed in concentration, her jaw tightened as she stared at the computer screen, and she could see Brennan's body shaking a bit from what she knew to be her friend tapping her foot under the desk. Clearly amused, Angel silently laughed a bit as she sat on the end of her friend's desk.<p>

"You know, Bren," Angela began, even as she knew her best friend wasn't really paying attention to her. "There really isn't any point to you wasting your time transferring files like this. You should be able to log-in remotely―"

"Not while I'm in-flight," Brennan said sharply without even looking up from the computer screen as she spoke. "While it's true that I'm taking my laptop with me, I want to take these reports with me to be able to review on the flight when I'm not sleeping. Since I won't have internet access during the flight, this makes the most logical sense as far as making certain I have access to the files. And, even after I've landed, I also have some concern about the trans-Pacific connection that might be able to be established between our servers and the ones in China. You know the high levels of restriction that the Chinese government has placed upon internet access…even those that are allegedly secure. There are filters and filters and then, even more filters, all used to maintain the state sponsored censorship that they have in place. And, I can't take the chance that once I get to Beijing that any problem might happen that would keep me from making a successful connection and viable interface with the Jeffersonian's intranet. So, it's just better to be safe than sorry which is why I'm transferring the files this way."

"Okay," Angela said, taking her friend's long-winded and very wordy answer as a valid explanation for why the task needed to be done before she went on her trip. "That's a valid explanation―"

"Thank you," Brennan replied tersely, although she was still clearly quite distracted.

"But," Angela continued, not letting her friend off the proverbial hook that easily. "Maybe you can tell me why you waited until the last minute to do it?" Angela asked. "And, maybe…why are you so stressed out as you're doing it? I mean, you've been prepping for this trip for weeks, so I know you can't be stressing about that, but you're the most tightly wound I've seen you in a long, long time, Bren. You can't tell me that you're nervous about actually getting to go see the bones they found."

"I'm not," Brennan said instantly.

"Then, what is it?" Angela questioned her. "I mean, I'm sorry, sweetie. But, you're giving off such a stressed vibe that I think I'm gonna need a full body massage to chill out after you're gone."

"I'm sorry," Brennan responded, as she finally looked up at her friend and some of her tension seemed to deflate in the face of Angela's comments. "I didn't mean to―"

"It's alright, Bren," Angela laughed with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'll just get a stiff drink…or four, after work. But, what's up with you? What gives? I know it's not just the trip since you're a seasoned enough traveler that I know you wouldn't go all neurotic on me just because you're heading overseas. So, if it's not the work about the bones they found, then what is it? Because, I've gotta tell you, if I didn't know better, I'd say that you never completed my extensive training from the Angela Montenegro School of How-to-Bag-a-Booth, let alone graduated as my star pupil." As soon as the artist had mentioned the name of Brennan's partner, she noticed theslight change in Brennan's body language. Arching an eyebrow at her, Angela asked suspiciously, "Bren?"

For the first time in some minutes, Brennan looked away completely from the computer screen. She tilted her head as she responded, "Yes, Ange?"

"What's up?" Angela responded.

"Nothing," Brennan answered again, just a bit too quickly. When Angela gave her another sharp look, the forensic anthropologist sighed and said, "It's just that I didn't sleep very well last night because Booth and I had a fight in the middle of foreplay."

"What?" Angela's eyes blinked open wide. In the two years that Booth and Brennan had ostensibly been a couple, her friend had always been relatively discreet at discussing the more intimate details of her sex life with the FBI Agent with Angela―not because Brennan particularly cared about maintaining her privacy, but she knew that Booth did―and so the artist was surprised at what she'd just heard. "Say again, there, Bren."

It was at that point that Angela finally noticed the dark circles under her eyes as Brennan responded, "It's just that…I wanted to get a good night's sleep yesterday since I knew that the chances are that any sleep I managed to obtain on the plane would be sub par. I usually sleep better if I've relaxed before going to sleep. So, I took a long bath, had a couple of glasses of that really excellent Riesling from that label that Hodgins suggested to us at that wine tasting he had last month, and then I propositioned Booth once we were in bed. Normally, he's quite amenable to any overtures I initiate when it comes to sexual encounters, but he was rather cranky last night. I took it personally when he pushed me off of him when I told him that I hadn't changed my mind about switching my ticket from First Class to Coach since he has to sit there and wouldn't let me pay for his upgrade. He continued to pout and nag me about how if I really cared about him that I'd do it. I said no since this isn't a two-hour flight to Boston we're talking about here, Ange. It's a _really _long flight, i.e., the type of flight that if you're ever going to book a First Class ticket on, it's this type of trip. Booth continued to be quite infantile in trying to manipulate me. In between our verbal sparring, we sort of ended up engaging in some fairly intense physical foreplay. But, when I said I still wasn't sitting in Coach, Booth rolled off of me in a huff and…well, I didn't go to sleep much at all last night. If anything, he thwarted my attempts to relax and made things worse than they'd been if I'd just gone straight to sleep after dinner."

Angela felt her head reel a bit as she processed the most information that Brennan had given her about her sex life in more than two years. She then said, "Wow. So, you're about to get on a trans-Pacific flight that's how many hours?"

"Thirteen, if we don't run into any turbulence or get delayed," Brennan sighed wearily.

"Okay," Angela said. "Thirteen hours…when you're already tired, horny, and Booth's only one Coach section away?"

Brennan considered Angela's words and then nodded. "Yes. That would be an accurate assessment of the situation."

Chuckling a bit, Angela shifted on the desk as she said, "Well, then, for what it's worth, Bren, here's my advice…at the first available opportunity, I'd hit Booth over the head, drag him to the first relatively private place that you two can find, and see about getting those membership cards in the Mile-High Club finally validated."

"Mile-High Club?" Brennan blinked at her with a blank look on her face. "I'm not familiar with that association. Is it some type of frequent flier reward club or international travel organization of which I'm unaware?"

Snickering Angela said, "No, it's not an official club like Delta's Skymiles or something, Bren. It's just a…well, a colloquialism, I guess you'd say. It's something that people talk about having done if they have sex when an airplane's in flight."

Brennan pursed her lips together for a minute and then said, "So, is this you're way of saying that your counsel is for me to alleviate the stress I'm feeling because of what happened with Booth last night by having sex with him on our flight to China?"

Angela pursed her lips, considered the question, and then gave her friend a large toothy grin as she nodded emphatically, "Hell yes!"

* * *

><p>Brennan had settled into her rather spacious seat in First Class even more tired than when she'd been talking with Angela in her office at the Jeffersonian. However, most of her previous fatigue had been swept away by a combination of three things. First, she'd managed to take a short nap that had lasted approximately ninety minutes before Booth snuck into first-class and woken her up. That led to the second reason, she felt better―even though he'd woken her up, she'd been very happy to see him, especially since she viewed him sneaking into First Class as a sign to her that he'd capitulated about their argument since he'd been the one to come to her. Third, and perhaps the greatest significant reason as to why she knew adrenaline and other hormones her body was secreting was making her feel, as Angela had used the word 'wired' to describe her, was the unexpected in-flight murder of Elizabeth Jones. Their impromptu investigation had quickly demanded both of them to push any thoughts out of their mind beyond those directly related to solving the case.<p>

However, Brennan's concentration was broken the moment she heard a noise from behind where she was working in the galley on trying to look for evidence that Booth could use to ID the killer. Looking up from where she was examining the victim's lower jaw in her hand, she saw Booth leaning against the galley's doorway. He had a look on his face that she didn't need the large magnifying lenses (read: old lady's reading glasses) that she was wearing on her head to recognize.

He was amused…and he wanted to play.

"Bones—" he nodded at her, his grin cocking as he tilted his head to study the sight before him.

She was dressed in a short-sleeve plum colored button-down top over a pair of khakis. However, most of that was covered by the dark blue apron she had over her clothes. Her hair was pulled back away from her face in a messy half-pony tale while the glasses covered her blue eyes and cream colored latex gloves covered her hands. She blinked as she watched him staring at her, looking rather suave in his white Oxford and simple blue tie over his charcoal grey suit trousers. He'd left his suit jacket back in Coach, and after several hours on the plane―and now, an impromptu homicide investigate where they had to improvise _everything_―how he managed to look so well put together was beyond Brennan's comprehension.

His hands in his pocket, Booth smiled at her as he took a step towards her and nodded, "All right, what I want you to do is take off your glasses― "

Brennan tilted her head as he spoke, but tried to keep her breathing steady as she set down Elizabeth Johnson's lower mandible back on the counter in front of her.

He took another step towards her, his voice low and smooth as he spoke, so that by the time he finished speaking there was no more than three or four inches separating them, "shake out your hair and say, 'Mr. Booth, do you know what the penalty is for an overdue book?'"

She considered his request only for a split second before she reached down and snapped the latex gloves off her hands. Reaching up, she took off the glasses, set the down next to the gloves she'd just discarded, raised her hand to the back of her head, and pulled on the elastic that had been holding her hair secure. She purposely kept her face completely devoid of any emotion as she shook out her shoulder length hair, and then lifted her gaze to meet his. She felt her heart rate start to increase as she saw Booth's brown eyes had darkened while he'd been watching her. His pupils were already dilated, and from what she could see from the portions of his neck that were visible, he'd already started to flush slightly as he waited to see what she'd do next. His own respiration becoming more shallow with each second that passed as his tongue lolled at the corner of his mouth. He also knew that he was staring at her so intently that he wasn't going to dare look away from her for even a millisecond, lest he miss seeing what he was certain was one of the most important things he'd ever get the chance to see in his entire life. Unconsciously, Brennan's own mouth opened slightly as her tongue darted out, and she licked her bottom lip. Tilting her head at him, she forced herself to take a breath before she spoke, her voice coming out in a more throaty and deep tone than she'd originally anticipated when she finally asked him, "Mr. Booth?"

"Yes, Ms. Brennan?" he graveled, his voice no more than a whisper as he responded.

Pressing her body up against his, Brennan turn her head so that her mouth was near his ear. She sucked on his earlobe for a minute, eliciting a very pleasing if strangulated groan from her partner, as she asked softly, "Do you know what the penalty for an overdue book is?"

"Guh," he groaned as she rubbed up against him. "A raging hard-on and a severe case of blue balls?"

Brennan, unable to help herself at what was a quintessential Booth-type response, laughed as she broke character. She pressed a kiss to his jaw as she said in a throaty purr, "It would serve you right, you know?"

"Why?" he pouted. "I-I didn't―"

Bringing her hands up from where they'd been resting against his sides, she pulled away from him long enough to place the palms of her hands against his chest and pushed hard enough so that Booth spun backwards to the far wall. "Don't talk," she muttered as she lifted her head to his. "If you start talking, we'll never do this."

"Do what?" Booth groaned as Brennan began to cup him through the soft wool of his suit trousers. "Oh, God―" he moaned as she used her fingers to place an increasing delightful pressure in one particular spot that she knew just about always made him lose it. "Bones―"

"Don't," she said again, letting her hand fall away from him only long enough so that she could reach behind her head and untie the apron that covered her clothes. "Seriously, Booth. I mean it. Stop talking."

By the time she'd tossed the apron aside, his brain was still struggling to make sense of what was happening in lieu of the massive amount of blood flow that had suddenly be channeled to another part of his anatomy. She was on him again by the time he realized what was happening, and he knew if he didn't act quickly, no matter what logic or rationality said, they'd both be too far beyond the point of no return to stop.

"Bones, I―" he grunted as she fell to her knees and wrapped her slender fingers around his Cocky belt buckle. "It was just a joke. I didn't think you'd actually―"

She unfastened the belt buckle with an amazing alacrity, but didn't bother to pull the belt free of it's loops. Knowing she was working on short time―from both the perspective of their case and Booth's conflict between being turned on by what she was doing to him and where it was actually happening―she stopped only long enough to achieve the most basic necessities. Flicking open the button on the pants, she tugged at the zipper with a rather pleasing _ziiippp_ sound that filled the galley as her hands went to the trousers waist band. She grabbed a bunch of fabric in each hand, and shoved the pants and the red-pinstripe boxers he was wearing off his ass and down his hips until they bunched at his knees. Brennan fell to her knees as she used her right hand to push his chest flush against the wall while she reached out for his stiff cock. He was already hard, and she knew it wouldn't take much to push him over the line…if she could get him to A.) stop talking and B.) stop fighting her.

"Shut up, Booth," she grunted at him. "Seriously, I mean it."

"Bones, I can't…we can't…that is, not in front of the remains―"

Quickly, she moved her hand to the base of his shaft, wrapping her fingers around it, creating a tight sheath as she started to pump him. "Then, I suggest, you close your eyes because we definitely can and definitely are..."

Booth's head snapped back with a _thud_ as soon as he felt Brennan's fingers working their magic on them. Imminently pleased, she saw him squeeze his eyes shut as she began to use her fist to go from the base of his cock to the tip and back again, dragging the veiny but silky smooth skin with her as her hand moved. After only a moment or two of her efforts, several drops of opalescent fluid pearled at the tip of his shaft, and Brennan smiled as she took that to be the sign she'd been waiting for before moving to her next effort. She was also quite pleased to note, that but for several incoherent grunts, Booth had _finally _stopped talking.

Letting her hand fall away, she didn't give Booth enough time to register her hand's absence from his dick before she replaced the warm tightness of her hand with the warm tightness of her mouth.

"Oh, Jesus Christ―" he moaned, finally uttering three words that Brennan actually _did _recognize.

She took those three little words as an immense sign of encouragement. Opening her mouth wider, she stopped moving her head up and down his hard length, instead letting her tongue do a bit of the work for her. She moved her tongue so that it was as high as she could reach on one side before she traced a wobbly line in a rough semi-circle around one-half of his swollen circumference. When she'd reached the other side, she repeated the motion in reference before she pressed the flat of her tongue along the underside of his cock. Bending the tip of her tongue so that he could fell a small point of pressure, she began to slide her head up and down, dragging her sweet warmth alongside the uneven texture of his skin.

When Brennan felt Booth's fingers intertwine in her hair, she knew she had him.

Quickly, she increased the speed at which she moved her head up and down his shaft, glad that his back was supporting most of his weight since she doubted how long her might be able to remain upright without some type of external assistance. When his hips began to thrust lightly into her mouth, Brennan could sense he was close. And, she took that opportunity to push her head back from him with a sharp movement so that his cock fell out of her mouth with an audible _pop_.

She smacked her lips in appreciation at the same time Booth's eyes suddenly snapped open and looked down at her, lifting his head from where it had slammed against the wall as his body tensed in frustration.

"Waahhh?" he moaned pitilessly.

Mischief clearly alight in her eyes, Brennan shook her head slightly as she chuckled, "I thought I said no talking, Booth."

His eyebrows widened in abject disbelief as he made a slight o-shape with his mouth since it appeared his was uncertain what she was going to do and seemed to have comprehended only the fact that she'd stopped. "Bones?" he whispered.

Laughing again, she shook her head again as she said, "Oh, put the puppy dog eyes away, Booth. Although it would serve you right for last night, I'm not nearly as mean as you are. Don't worry…you're not going to have to have to pull your boxers and pants back up before you've come."

His body relaxed a bit as he leaned back into the wall. "Thank God."

Brennan chuckled again, greatly amused at seeing her stiff-collared, extremely tightly wound and very controlling partner in such a vulnerable state. She licked her lips again, pushing aside the fact that the throbbing she'd felt between her legs, it seemed would go unsatisfisied for the second time in the same twenty-four hour period as she knew they didn't have time to satisfy both of their arousals. But, then, another thought occurred to her―one that made her realize she definitely didn't mind walking away from yet another sexual encounter with Booth without having even achieved one orgasm. Her lips curled into an evil smile as she recalled their bet about sex and laughter. As Brennan realized she'd made her decision, she refocused all her efforts into achieving her two goals off not only giving Booth one of the most powerful orgasms possible, but also getting at least enough of a laugh from him that she'd score a point in their little contest.

Opening her mouth, she leaned forward and pulled his hard length into her wetness once more, this time not giving Booth much time to realize that he was once again between her lips let alone that she'd started sucking him in the path of a very welcome mind-numbing oblivion. Snaking her arms between their two bodies, as Brennan concentrated on maintaining a steady half-licking, half-sucking motion with her mouth, she used one hand to palm his heavy balls while she used the index finger of her other hand to trace a small line back and forth along the partial curve of his pubic bone. She stroked the sensitive skin there, at the same time her mouth moved up and down his cock, and she lightly squeezed his balls, sending what she knew to be an overload of sensory data to Booth's brain.

"_Unnnmmmpppthh_," he gurgled, as he bucked his hips slightly towards her. "Oh, fuck―"

Brennan increased her tempo lightly as she felt Booth thrust again into her mouth. She could taste the salty drops of his precum becoming more frequent in her mouth as she continued to suck, making her wonder if he'd come before he laughed.

"Bones," he grunted a bit too loudly, but fortunately he wasn't so far gone that he didn't realize he may have been a bit _too _loud in that moment. He bit his bottom lip to still his cries, but he couldn't help himself as he felt the tight pulling at the base of his spine start to spread through every nerve in his body like a spiderweb unfurling in the wind. "Ohhhhh….ohhh…fuck―"

As soon as she felt his body tense against hers again, particularly in the way he loosened the grip of his fingers in her hair at the same time his abdominal muscles clenched, Brennan wasn't surprised when he started to shoot his hot come into her mouth. What did surprise her was that, instead of groaning her name when he climaxed like he usually did―as she tickled him once more with the index finger she'd been using to tease a line across the soft skin that covered his pubic bone―she heard him cry out a strange sound that she'd never heard him make before in the entire time they'd been having sex. It was an odd sound, a mixture of a half-groan and…then suddenly, as Brennan swallowed the last of his come when he collapsed back against the wall, she realized what the other part of the sound had been. Booth had half-groaned and half-chuckled when he climaxed.

When she let his now soft shaft fall away from her mouth, she looked up at him with triumph clearly shining in her eyes. Slowly, Booth opened his own heavy-lidded eyes that looked at her in a clouded and unfocused way.

"Huh?" he finally managed after he'd choked down several gasps of much needed air.

Standing, Brennan shook her head as she felt pinpricks begin to signal that circulation was reluctantly returning to her limbs from when they'd gone numb as she'd knelt before him. When she pulled herself upright, arched her back as she cracked her back, she leaned in towards his ear. Before she pressed a light kiss to his jaw, she smiled evilly as she whispered, "Point to Brennan."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, after they'd solved the murder of Elizabeth Jones, Brennan―the exhaustion she'd been battling for hours finally catching up with her―looked up with a smile as her partner entered the cabin. Holding a bottle of opened champagne, and two glasses that were already filled, he smiled at her as he nodded and extended one of the glasses, "Look what I found, huh?" Unable to help herself, despite her fatigue, Brennan flashed him a small grin as he handed her one of the glasses. He seemed quite pleased with his efforts as he said, "There's that smile."<p>

"Thank you," she said, as she saw Booth sit down in the empty seat next to her.

"Mmmmm hmmmm," he responded.

Brennan waited until Booth had settled himself and then asked, "We don't even get to get off the plane?"

"Nope," Booth said with a shake of his head. "They're refueling, and finding us another pilot, and―" He stopped, made a _wooshing _noise before he reached out and clinked his glass against hers, before he continued, "go back home."

She smiled at him again as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, watching as Booth did the same. She then turned in her seat a bit and nodded her head back into Coach where Eli Bilbrey was handcuffed to a seat. "hat about his parents?" she asked.

Booth looked back and then shrugged. "They gotta fly back on their own dime. Eli is in federal custody now."

Brennan nodded and then gave him a half-smile. Booth set his glass down and then reached over and grabbed for her hand, interlacing her fingers with his. "You want to get off the plane, to see those old Chinese bones." He said it as more than a statement than a question. Nevertheless, Brennan gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"It's not your fault," Brennan said truthfully.

Still, feeling guilty because of the opportunity that he knew Brennan was going to miss, Booth said, "Yeah, it is, because I'm the one that dragged you out of pure science and pulled you into murder solving."

Chuckling a bit, Brennan squeezed his hand and said with a small laugh in her voice, "That's not how I remember it."

"Really?" Booth asked with the guilty look he'd had on his face disappearing instantly at Brennan's laughter. A toothy grin started to tug at his lips as he waited for her response.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "As I recall, I had to force you to take me into the field."

The memory of how she'd blackmailed him during the Cleo Eller case made him smile as he repeated, "Really?"

"Yes," she said again. "You didn't want to, remember? This is all my fault."

Lowering his voice, he leaned in and whispered, "Just like earlier in the galley was all your fault, too?"

"Oh, you mean when we joined the Mile-High Club?" Brennan blinked at him innocently. "No, that was definitely not my fault. You're the one who bears total culpability for that incident."

"Really?" he laughed again.

"Yes," Brennan said with a straight face.

"Do I even want to know how you know what the Mile-High Club is?" Booth asked as he leaned as close to Brennan as the seat's arm rest allowed him to get. "Or, should I just chalk it up to you talking to your guru, the almighty Montenegro, again?"

Brennan laughed and then shook her head as she said, "You know, Angela isn't my sole source for all things related to pop culture and slang, Booth."

"True," he said. "I like to think that in the last couple of years I've expanded your knowledge base in that arena a few times."

"Definitely," Brennan said, her eyes dancing as she waited to see if Booth would lean in to kiss her in front of Eli.

She didn't have to wait long as he brought his lips to her cheek and said, "Ya know, technically, you are off on a couple of things."

"What?" Brennan said, turning her head so that she could see Booth even as she pulled her jaw away from his lips.

"Well," he said. "For starters, since I'm the only one who came, technically I think I'm in the Mile-High Club…you're not. But―" he gave her a cocky grin as he said, "Since we've got almost thirteen hours in the air in an almost empty plane ahead of us, we can probably take care of that one for you."

Brennan laughed and said, "Okay, I must concede the accuracy of your assertion that one. What's your second point?"

"Uhhh," Booth said, his face taking on a bit more of a serious look. "Just for the record, I don't think that little trick you pulled at the end there should could as a point. I didn't actually laugh."

Sitting forward in her chair, Brennan's mouth immediately opened in protest, "You did so! I heard it."

"It was a half-laugh at best," Booth quickly countered. "Plus, it was only because of oral sex, Bones. That shouldn't count for the bet."

"Why not?" she asked, incredulity clear in her voice. "It did for me!"

"But―"

"Hey!" a voice suddenly called out from behind them.

Realizing that he'd almost forgotten about Eli's presence, Booth turned and said sharply, "What?"

"Will you two please cut it out?" Eli whined. "You're grossing me out here. I get it, so you can stop now. I promise I won't make any trouble…just stop it."

"Stop what?" Booth asked, confusion knitting his brow.

"Stop talking like you two are together," Eli said, the disgust clear in his voice. "The whole 'we're having sex and dirty talk' to make the teenager nauseous? I get it. You can stop the act now."

This time it was Brennan's turn to turn around as she twisted in her seat and looked at Eli as she asked, "You think we've been feigning our discussion just to compel you into some type of docile behavior?"

"Yeah," Eli nodded solemnly. "Because it's not like the two of you would ever be the type to get together. I knew that as soon as I saw Mr. G-Man sneak into First-Class six hours ago. So, can we just stop now? Please? Before I really need to use one of those air sickness bags since I'm going to vomit everywhere?"

"Wait," Booth said. "You don't…you don't believe that she and I are really together…like as boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Shaking his head, Eli said, "Hell no. Who'd ever buy that load of crap? I mean the two of you together? Really? No way, man…just no, way."

As soon as Eli had spoken, Brennan could only look at Booth in wide-eyed disbelief as the teen prayed he wouldn't puke on a plane that actually was grounded, and _not_ in mid-air, when he finally tossed his cookies.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	4. Ch 3: Playing a Role

Laughing during Sex

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Now that Booth and Brennan have finally hooked up, why will no one believe that they're actually together… and to what lengths will they have to go to prove it? Fluff and smut abound. Set during season 4. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 3 – Playing a Role<span>

* * *

><p>Booth was flustered, and Brennan absolutely loved it.<p>

He'd been that way since Booth had stalked off from their conversation with Henry Simon after Brennan's offer of a Russian knife throwing act had gotten them an official invitation to join the circus. Walking towards their mobile home, he'd thrown open the door and waited only long enough to hold it so that Brennan could enter ahead of him before he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and prepared to summon help. As he stood in the middle of the trailer that would serve as their home for the next few days―he shuddered to think of what it might be like for them in such a tight space if their undercover work lasted over a week―he attempted to get Sweets on his cell phone. The hideousness of the garish red and blue logo that was scrawled on the side of the trailer and proclaimed their act―BUCK AND WANDA MOOSEJAW'S KNIVES OF DEATH―still made his head hurt more than just a little bit. He'd given the techs in his field detail specific instructions, and the trailer of the Canadian Moosejaws was the best that they had come up with in such a short period of time.

While he dialed the number, he scowled at Brennan, shaking his head slightly over the fact that his partner and girlfriend had ruined his opportunity to come up with a really good act but for her impromptu opening of her very big mouth. For her part, Brennan seemed very positive and upbeat.

"Russian?" he asked for what seemed the hundredth time in the short span of the two minutes that had gone by since they'd entered the trailer, repeating the same question that he'd asked as soon as they'd gone inside. His normally handsome face puckered into a scowl of irritated displeasure. Even as his nostrils began to flare slightly, his angular jaw tightened while his brow furrowed in clear physical response to his current unhappiness. "You had to pick Russian?" he complained to Brennan, trying to make the crux of his displeasure known in case she'd missed it the first time (and, given the fact that she'd yet to respond aside from smiling, he believed, in fact, that she had missed it).

Determined not to dignify his petulant behavior, Brennan decided to ignore Booth's body language and abrupt mood shift. Instead, she focused on what was the more important point, i.e., that they'd needed a cover story for their act, she'd come up with one on the spur of the moment when she rarely lied so convincingly on demand, and on top of everything else, it was a damn good idea.

"I know," she nodded, some of her excitement at having come up with such a good and very workable idea on such short notice creeping into her voice. "Brilliant, right?" she gestured with her arm at him, her blue eyes appearing an even darker shade of blue thanks to the darker shade of the brunette wig she was wearing and the black kohl eyeliner that rimmed her eyes She again ignored Booth who was still holding the cell phone to his ear even as he rolled his eyes at her. "It just popped into my head."

Pointing at her, Booth responded, "You know what? Don't pop things, Bones." After another minute, the FBI agent's facial expression changed again as the FBI profiler finally answered his office extension. "Sweets!" he exclaimed, skipping any formal greetings. Jumping right to the reason that he'd called, Booth asked, "What the hell is a first of May?"

Booth had taken the liberty of putting Sweets on speaker phone so that Brennan could hear his responses as he walked to the table and set the cell down in front of where Brennan had sat down. Sweets' answer came fast.

"A newbie," Sweets clarified. "A rookie."

Considering his information, Brennan asked, "Why would a little person be referred to as a 24-hour man?"

This time, Brennan appeared not to be as lucky as Booth had been when he'd asked his question. She would've sworn that she could almost hear the actual shift that took place in Sweets' mental processes as soon as she'd spoken. She could picture him in his office, tense and on the edge of his chair as he endured Booth's pointed questioning. However, as soon as she'd spoken, she imagined that his body had relaxed, he'd leaned back in his chair, resting his arms on the armrests, slouching slightly as a seemingly indulgent look cracked his face. Brennan knew her brow had furrowed when she'd noticed the shift. It only became worse as a frown crossed her face when she heard Sweets' response.

"Oh, had a little trouble with the lingo, huh?" He paused only a beat―barely long enough for Brennan to formulate an appropriate response, let alone open her mouth and verbalize it, as she watched Booth peer suspiciously out their blinds―before Sweets continued. "He is the advanced person, he goes to town ahead of the circus and sets everything up," he explained. Brennan stared at Booth for a minute, the two of them having an unspoken exchange as she let her partner how much the psychologist could annoy her while Booth's automatic response was to 'lighten up'. Sighing, Brennan tilted her head at Booth as Sweets continued speaking, "If you like, I could e-mail you a lexicon."

Blinking at the cell phone that Booth held in his hand, Brennan was mildly surprised when Sweets not only said something that didn't annoy her, but also seemed to be a suggestion that had some merit. "I would certainly appreciate that," she responded with a nod to confirm her words, even though she knew it was somewhat repetitive and ineffective since Sweets couldn't see her gesture.

"Sure," Sweets replied. He was quiet for a minute, and Brennan could again sense some type of shift on his part. She looked at Booth in curiosity as he too seemed to notice the change of tone in Sweets' voice. "Ummmm…" he began. "Can I offer a piece of advice?"

Booth only refrained from rolling his eyes since Sweets wasn't there to see it. Instead, he said, "Well…that's why we called you, Sweets."

"Don't try too hard to be their friends," came the instant response, a bit of confidence coming into Sweets' voice as he took Booth's statement as the permission it was to say his piece. "Act like you're more interested in each other than any of them, alright?" He continued. "I mean, I know it'll be difficult since you and Dr. Brennan are just partners. But, if you can tap into the feelings of friendship that you have for one another, and can in some way focus those feelings of camaraderie, it might be a long shot, but there's a small chance that you can make the other circus performers believe that you two are really married to one another. Then, if all goes well, they will come to you," he added as almost an afterthought.

Again, Brennan was somewhat surprised by Sweets' comments, as seemingly insightful as they appeared to be. _Then again, _she thought. _It's not really surprising because his comments almost are more of an ethnographical type than a psychological nature. So, it stands to reason that such information would be inherently more useful…helpful, almost. _Silently nodding her approval, Brennan was genuine in her response as she said, "Okay. Thanks, Sweets."

She looked up at Booth to see if he would add anything. Instead, when he didn't even bother to say his own goodbyes to Sweets, but had let Brennan's words act as a dismissal for the psychologist, she knew something was bothering him. She watched as Booth hit the 'end' button and then heard him sigh as he tossed the phone back on the table. As he turned, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. However, it was only when he'd turned all the way around to face her that Brennan saw that he'd unconsciously hooked both thumbs in the pockets of his dark blue jeans near where the two large knives he used as props in their impromptu audition were strapped in a belt around his waist. As he splayed his remaining fingers in a fan-like shape along the curve of his hips, Brennan came to the conclusion that he had a rather focused look on his face because she realized that something was distracting him. When he began to stare at a random spot on the trailer's far wall, and then started to chew on his bottom lip, knowing him as she did, she could tell that he'd begun to work through some issue he'd identified as a potential problem. He seemed to be struggling with, she supposed, how best to implement Sweets' directive. However, as his brain did mental circles as he tried to problem solve their issue, one part of her mind was trying to understand why such a simple issue would be causing him any definable measure of consternation.

_Sweets said that we needed to act more interested in one another than any of the other circus performers, _Brennan thought. _That's easily enough done since, on a professional level, I value Booth's varied skills and well-informed opinions more than any other person here. In addition, on a personal level, my intense physical attraction and extreme affection for Booth make it very easy to not be distracted by other individuals here. Ergo, if we just act as we normally do around one another, that should satisfy the conditions implied by Sweets' advice. It really isn't that difficult._

"Booth―" Brennan began, intent on telling him that he was making their situation far more complicated than it needed to be―a somewhat ironic statement, she knew, since _he_ was usually the one telling _her _that.

Looking over at Brennan, he answered, "Yeah?"

"Stop doing that," she responded.

Booth smacked his lips together for a minute before he responded, "Doing what?"

"I know you're moderately annoyed and/or frustrated with me because I possibly co-opted some of your prerogatives with my suggestion of our act being Russian in nature. And, since I also know that that you might construe such actions on my part as a potential usurpation of your ability to dictate all aspects of our cover story while we're undercover on a case, I realize that you might not be happy about what happened. However, that's no reason to make things more difficult than they need to be. Sweets' advice is surprisingly useful, and, I believe, fairly simplistic to implement. As such, there's no need for you to wrestle with how to formulate a plan that considers how best to put into practice his counsel."

"Oh, really?" Booth asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes," Brennan said with a short shake of her head.

"Okay, Bones," he nodded at her. "I know I'm probably gonna regret this, but what the hell? It's not like it wouldn't be the first time. I'll bite. If I don't need to come up with a plan on what to do next because…why? You've got one already for us?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Right," he sighed. "So, then…" He stared at her expectantly. When Brennan just stared back, he prompted her, "You gonna tell me then, Bones, or do I have to guess? Because, you know I hate it when you do that to me. I know you get off on tossing me a curveball that sets off a deluge of puzzling open-ended questions that usually amuses/confounds me because you reap some kinda psychic revenue from watching me struggle with these mind-bending questions of yours, but cut me some slack, huh?"

Brennan frowned at his slight rant, not certain if she should be mildly offended at his summation of one aspect of one of the ways in which she communicated with him. Then, lest she get distracted, she filed the set of comments away for later analysis. Instead, she decided to focus on the primary issue at hand, as she told him, "I believe the best way we can convince the other circus performers that we're more interested in one another than anyone else is to project an air of complete physical and sexual occupation with each other."

Staring at her for a moment, Booth processed Brennan's statement as he translated her wordiness. "So, you…want us to make out in front of them or something?" he asked, considering the idea not necessarily to be a bad one, though he didn't particularly like the fact that he hadn't thought of it first.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "Extensive public displays of affection would serve a dual purpose for us here. First, it would allow us to convince the circus performers that they are of little interest to us since we only care about one another. Second, it would give us an opportunity to perfect techniques we might be able to utilize to better convince people in our own lives, at the Jeffersonian and the Hoover, that is, that we are, in fact, in a committed long-term monogamous relationship and have been for some time."

Making a slight face, Booth's lips twisted as he thought about her points. "While I'm the first one whose up for a little makeout time, Bones, and I think it might take of Sweets' point, I'm not sure how well it's gonna work for your second thingy there. I mean, it's not like Sweets and some of the squints haven't already caught us playing tonsil hockey or me grabbing your ass when I thought no one was looking in lab."

"Be that as it may," Brennan told him, "I still think it's a sound plan. In fact, I think we may have to become more intense in our displays of public affection. Besides kissing me, feel free to grope either my breasts or the muscles of my gluteal groupings at will."

"Done," Booth dead-panned as he stared straight at her and tried to keep a serious look on his face. _Awesome_, he thought. _She just ordered me to feel her up in public whenever I wanted. Damn, she's good. If I didn't love that woman already, I think that Cupid would've just hit me with one of those 'true love' bolts of his smack dab in my kisser. That's just…she's just. Awesome. So friggin' awesome._ "What else?"

"Well," Brennan said, not picking up on the fact that Booth was trying very hard not to give her a dumb grin because she'd just told him to cop a feel topside or to pat her ass whenever he wanted. "I still think, since this is our first day among the former co-workers of Jenny and Julie Hicks, that we should make a strong statement. You only get a single chance to make a good and lasting first impression."

"So," Booth said, knowing he was probably going to hate himself for asking, since he knew Brennan tended to get wordy when she was slightly nervous telling him something. "You want to do what to set 'em up with by making some kind of statement that screams we're self-centered, self-involved uber-sex starved horndogs?"

Her brow furrowing a bit at Booth's words, Brennan asked, "Horndogs?"

This time it was Booth who shot Brennan a look as it was his turn to tell her, "Don't do that."

"What?" Brennan asked. "I don't know what that―"

"Yes, you do," Booth said. "You do because I know that I've already explained it to you a gazillion times in the past year plus."

"Technically," she countered. "Gazillion isn't any true quantifiable number. As such―"

"Bones," Booth growled. "Cut it out."

Knowing that she was caught, Brennan rolled her eyes as she said, "I'm still not 100% accurate from where you've derived that slang, but I suppose I take the general ideas conveyed by the euphemism."

"Thank you," Booth nodded at her. "Now, in plain English, what do you want us to do to make your statement for the circus freaks?"

After he'd finished asking his question, Booth's eyes locked with Brennan…and it happened so quickly, he thought he'd imagined it at first. It was as if, in the span of thirty seconds, a complete shift of persona had happened. And, in that time, the forensic anthropologist who was his partner disappeared. In her place, stood his girlfriend. And, if he wasn't mistaken…she had a weird look in her pale blue eyes. It was a strange look that he'd seen before…since it usually preceded a look that left no doubt in his typical male mind that she was horny and ready to jump his bones.

Brennan narrowed his eyes as she asked silently: _What?_

His unspoken response came instantly: _Seriously?_

She tilted her head as she smiled: _You were the one who brought it up._

His brow crinkled in confusion: _I did?_

She nodded slightly: _Indeed. _

He shook his head: _Did not. You were the one who brought up sex…and started talking about me grabbing your tits and ass anytime I want to._

She frowned slightly: _Technically, you're correct. But, you were the one who mentioned being horny._

He scowled again: _Only because you brought it up first. Either way, it's not happening, Bones._

She tilted her head at him and asked: _Why not?_

"Because," he suddenly said, breaking their wordless tennis match. "We're working here, Bones. We're on the clock."

"No," she insisted. "Technically, we're not. We're Buck and Wanda Moosejaw. We work on our own schedules. And, right now, on the advice of one of our co-workers, we've been told that we should act more carnal with one another―"

"Now, wait just a damn minute," Booth said. "Sweets didn't say anything of the sort about you and me getting it on. He's one of the main tools that still doesn't think that you and I are more than partners, remember?"

"He inferred it," Brennan said, dismissing his later point and concentrating on the first issue that he'd raised. "You know he did, Booth."

"No way," Booth said. "Now, look here, Bones. You know me. I can be ready to go just about any time you want to…but, this isn't the time or the place. We're here on the fed's dime, so I don't think it's right for us to start trying to bang one another less than a half hour after we've gotten out into the field. Plus…it's daytime. And…if the trailer starts rocking, and they know not to come a'knocking, then everyone will know that we were having sex―"

"So?" Brennan interrupted him, obviously confused by his reluctance to have sex with her. "We want them to know that we were having sex. Logically, it would be foolish just to simulate the sounds and sights for them to see. Although, technically, if someone could witness us during coitus―"

"No way!" Booth choked, turning a bit red at the thought. "There's no fucking way I'm fucking you in front of an audience. No way, Bones. So, just get that crazy idea out of your head now―and I do mean that because you're freakin' loony tunes if you think that's hapening―we aren't having sex in front of the circus freaks. I mean, it's the middle of the afternoon, and we're in the middle of the desert with a bunch of strange circus peoples…that, need I remind you, Sweets understands…so that should say how weird they really are. We just…this isn't like you and me coming home from the lab and the Hoover for a nooner, Bones. It's different, and it doesn't work for me. So….yeah. That's that. Got it?"

Brennan licked her lips, noting the way that the way the dark color of the suspenders he wore over the white sleeves cotton t-shirt he had on emphasized his broad shoulders. She narrowed her eyes as she said, "Fine, Booth. We won't have sex in public."

"Oh, thank God," Booth sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit as he took a deep breath and relaxed when he realized that Brennan wasn't going to pick a fight about the crazy hairbrained idea that she'd somehow came up with in her genius, but warped brainspace. "Great. That's just great."

"Although, I must confess, I'm more than slightly confused about your sporadic bouts of prudishness―" she began to tell him.

"You know I'm not a prude!" Booth cut her off.

"Especially considering the fact we were in a very public place when I gave you that blow job on the plane to Beijing last month," Brennan said. "As a matter a fact, I seem to recall that you were the one who initiated that particular encounter with your little quip about me being a dirty librarian."

Booth chewed his bottom lip again before he conceded, "Well, I didn't think you actually go for it and slam me up against a wall and start sucking me off before I'd even realized my pants and boxers were down around my ankles."

"Be that as it may," Brennan continued. "With regards to our current situation, we won't have sex in front of an audience," Brennan continued. "But, we are going to have sex now, Booth. I find that―considering the fact that we've spent the past fifteen minutes about being sexually aroused,, combined with the rather pleasing cumulative effects that your current attire had on your appearance, has…to use a phrase I know you'll understand, 'turned me on'―I want to take this opportunity to engage in sexual intercourse with you. Now, I assume I'm not going to have to tackle you again and have your pants and boxers down around your ankles again before you start to comply, do I?"

Booth stared at Brennan. Brennan stared at Booth. And, when she gave him a sly smile that had gotten him into so much trouble (albeit wickedly awesome trouble that he never regretted because of who she was) over the years, he knew she'd just scored a checkmate on him. He took in the sight of her―her breathing already growing a bit shallow as her creamy pale skin flushed a barely discernable pink―and nodded his agreement as a slightly toothy grin cracked his face. He felt a small twitch in his groin as her eyes looked him over from head to toe and back again, stopping mid-chest as she focused on his suspenders.

"I shouldn't have worn the suspenders, huh?" he asked, as she took at step towards him.

"Probably not," she grinned at him with a shake of her head. "At least, from the perspective of ensuring that I didn't get distracted from our case and tempt you into having sex with me."

She reached out, grabbed the hem of the red vest he'd worn, and began to unbutton it from the button up. Booth watched her with clear interest, his eyes moving as he stayed glued to every move she made. When she pushed the vest off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground in a _whoosh _of fabric, using her index finger, she lift one of the suspenders slightly off of his shoulder. With Brennan now standing only a few inches away from him, when he took a deep breath, he caught a whiff of her hair, smelling the scent of her apple-scented shampoo that he'd gotten her a few weeks earlier.

"That smells like the Apple Cider shampoo I bought you, Bones," Booth said, his voice having dropped half-an octave as he looked at her through heavy lidded eyes.

"Yes," she nodded. "It is. You like it?"

"I spent eighteen bucks on a bottle for you," he growled. "So, if that doesn't tell you something…well, it's the closest thing I can get to you smelling like apple pie," he said, as he pulled her towards him, wrapping his right arm around her back. "So, yeah. I like it. It smells fucking awesome."

"I'm sure my own natural body chemistry has enhanced the appeal of the shampoo's scent, Booth. Since you're sexually attracted to me, my pheromones combine to―" Brennan was cut off as Booth leveled an intense stare at her.

"Bones?" he asked when she let her sentence trail off unfinished.

"Yes, Booth?" she replied.

"If you want me to get in the mood and stay there, it might be a good idea for you not to talk me to death, huh?" he nodded at her.

For her part, Brennan could only chuckle lightly in response.

It was then that Booth decided not to waste an opportunity―since one had presented itself with his partner and girlfriend having voluntarily stopped talking―and he palmed the fleshy curve of her ass in his hand as he leaned in and kissed her.

It was a kiss that surprised both of them in different ways. For Booth, a small portion of his brain was still amazed, even after a year and a half of having been with Brennan in a more-than-just-partners-kind-of-way, that she could render him into a primal, grunting cave man. As she pressed her body up against his, brushing her ample breasts against his chest, he could feel the tightness of her taut nipples against his skin through the thinness of his cotton t-shirt. He opened his mouth wider in response as he groaned, and Brennan took advantage of his movement by turning her head to the side and slipping her tongue into the warm wetness of his mouth. She made a quick swipe of the perfectly even line of his upper row of teeth―something that she'd always appreciated, despite the fact that he'd shared some of the horrors he suffered as a teenager when he'd worn braces to correct his crooked teeth. When she reached the end of the row, she slid her tongue underneath his jaw and slithered it along the outer perimeter of his tongue. It was only when she reached the back of his tongue that she flipped her own tongue from where it had skated along his tongue's profile and began to wrestle with him in earnest. He used his hands to massage the swell of her ass, and he was just beginning to enjoy the building tightness in his groin as Brennan moved to grind her lips against him when the world suddenly shifted. One minute, they were upright. The next, they'd toppled onto the bed as Brennan pushed them down in what even Booth had to admit was a rather skillful logistical move, especially since she'd been able to pull it off by catching a guy like him off guard. For her, a small part of Brennan's brain was surprised that she hadn't totally gone completely primal on Booth the moment she felt his hardness pressing against her upper thigh.

Booth couldn't believe he was doing this.

And, in a way, neither could Brennan.

Despite his earlier protestations in London some months before that he was most definitely _not _going to schedule sex, on the advice of their shrink―at least, advice from a certain perspective―it seemed as if Brennan how now penciled them in for sex. And, the thing that amazed him was that she'd done it in a way that Booth couldn't tell if was, in fact, accurate to categorize it as having been planned or so spontaneous that it was faster than a spur-of-the moment kind of thing.

Lifting herself up off of him, Booth gave Brennan a particular goofy grin as she ended their kiss.

When she stared at him, his pink tongue lolling at the side of his mouth, she seemed to be hesitating.

Smiling at her, Booth nodded, "So, ummm, sex…right?"

Chuckling, Brennan replied, "Oh, good idea."

"Okay," he laughed.

In a manner of less than two minutes, Brennan had divested herself of her own clothing—quite happy to finally be out what what she considered to be a very ugly, if culturally appropriate blue patterned dress—while she'd then proceeded to strip Booth in a particularly ruthless way that he'd not only enjoyed, but had made him even harder. She only paused once, when she felt him start to press up into him, in a particularly pleasurable way, as she said in a breathy voice, "What I think we need to do is get a synco-pated rhythm going that takes advantage of the natural frequency of the springs." She started to rock underneath him, using a much greater level of force than she normally did as she tried to get the bed to squeak underneath them.

Booth laughed as he saw her exaggerated movements. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, whoa!" he said lifting up a hand to stop Brennan because she was going to make him laugh as much as screw up the normal rhythm they normally fell into when they had sex. "Are you this spontaneous during real sex?" he asked her, tilting his head as his eyes twinkled at her.

For her part, Brennan knew that Booth was teasing her. Realizing that he had a point, and that they would accomplish both the goals of letting the trailer rock so the circus performers would know they were having sex _and _making it enjoyable for both of them, Brennan slowed down. She shot Booth a look as she said, "Yes, I am. And, aren't you the lucky one for it, too, huh?"

Booth's answer came with a sharp thrust of his hip towards her as he rolled them over and proceeded to show her that he, too, could be spontaneous in sex when he wanted to be. He punctuated his point by reaching down and coasting his finger tips along the smooth skin of Brennan's exposed side as he lightly ticked her at almost the same moment he slid inside her. Brennan let out a loud yelp, a laugh that quickly morphed into a groan of pleasure before she bucked her hips towards him. From that point on, the trailer rocked for a fairly long time without either occupant ever really trying to exaggerate the motion merely for the point of putting on a 'show' for the locales.

* * *

><p>Booth stared at her, his heavy-lidded dark brown eyes watching her in clear suspicion. After a minute, he grunted, shook his head, opened his mouth, and began to tear open the plastic tube of chocolate chip cookie dough that he held in his hand with his teeth. Brennan watched in amusement when, after a minute, he'd bitten through enough of the plastic to reach some of the raw cookie dough inside. Once he'd taken a big mouthful of the cookie dough, chewed it for no more than four or five seconds, he gulped it down in a large swallow.<p>

He then smacked his lips, as he pointed at her using the remnants of the cookie dough tube, and muttered through a mouth still sticky with the impromptu sweet snack, "Just…so…you…know, this is _complete and utter _bullshit, Bones. And…I mean that…in the nicest way possible. Just…FYI."

Blinking at him for a minute, Brennan drew back one of her legs and then kicked forward to get enough momentum to throw herself up out of the small bed. The flush of air that caressed her naked body as she got up felt wonderful against the warm stickiness that permeated her skin in their post-coital period of interplay. The thin sheen of sweat that had gathered on her body made it glisten in the fading afternoon light that trickled through various points in the trailer's covered doors and windows. She knew she looked particularly attractive, her hair mussed, her lips bee stung, and her body flushed a bright pink from the fading glow of the three orgasms she'd had in rapid success.

Stalking towards him, she took particular care to arch her back in a way that she knew he particularly appreciated, before she walked up to him and rubbed her still pert nipples against his naked chest. His half-full mouth opened partway into a partial o-shape as he groaned a bit at her teasing of him.

"I find it hard to take that point seriously," she said, her voice a low and throaty drawl, her throat unintentionally raspy from the way she'd groaned herself raw during the course of their lovemaking, "especially when it's coming from a man who's shoving his face full of a high caloric poor snack choice―that has the high potential to result in salmonella poisoning since that cookie dough contains raw egg yolk, as I've pointed out to you many, _many _times before―just because he's got the post-sex munchies."

"Fuck salmonella," Booth growled. "It tastes good, and I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry after sex," Brennan countered. "Which is why I suggested that you pack several tubes of the Pringles that you like and a few of the over-processed pseudo-beef jerky Slim Jim sticks you like instead of putting yourself at risk for acute food poisoning…again."

"Har, har, har," Booth snickered, the mocking clear in his voice as he nodded at her. "Just for the record, I did bring the Pringles and Slim Jims, but I don't want those right now, okay? I want something sweet―"

"Because you're like a female in the post-coital phase," Brennan sighed. "You always have been, and I'm beginning to think you might always will be. I'd initially thought, you know, that perhaps it was my fault if I contributed to establishing a pattern the time I brought those glazed donuts home from the lab, and we consumed them in bed shortly after we'd commenced our sexual relationship. However, I'm far wiser to the fact that your fascination and utter romantic relationship with all types of preprocessed salty and sugary foods significantly predates our association."

"Squint my snack preferences to death all you want, Bones," Booth said through another mouthful of raw cookie dough. "I still ain't giving them up, and I still say this is utter bullshit."

"Why?" she blinked at him.

"Because," he muttered. "You laughed. Twice. Once, right after I slid into you for the first time. And, again, right before you came. You laughed…a lot. There's no doubt about it _this _time. That was a Bonesy squeal of epic proportions, ergo, that means this point should go to me. Score Team Booth."

"Nope," Brennan said with a shake of her head. "No way."

"Okay, Bones," Booth said, nodding at her indulgently. "Go ahead."

"What?" she asked him.

"Go ahead and dazzle me with your rationalization over how you're gonna try to get out of this one," he responded. "Lemme hear it. I wanna see how creative you're gonna get."

"It's simple really," she said. "Even if I did laugh―and I'm not saying I did―but if I did laugh, it doesn't count for a point because I'm not Dr. Temperance Brennan right now. And, you're not Special Agent Seeley Booth. We're actually Wanda and Buck Moosejaw. Ergo, Buck _might've _made Wanda laugh. But, Booth didn't make Brennan laugh. So, you don't get a point."

Booth stared at her for a long moment. He then scowled as he said, "That's bullshit, Bones."

"Be that as it may," Brennan said, her eyes alight in satisfaction. "It's the truth. So, tough. Too bad. Deal with it."

"No way," Booth said, becoming more than slightly annoyed at his partner. "You're not winning this one on a technicality. You laughed during sex. I get the point."

"Nope," she laughed again. "You don't."

"You aren't going to win this bet on a technicality, Bones," Booth said, pointing at her with his free hand, stabbing the air in front of her with his index finger. "No damn way that's happening."

Arching an eyebrow at him, Brennan said in a saucy voice, "Of course, if you'd like to try again, Booth, clearly establishing your identity and mine before we engage in a subsequent sexual encounter, you're not only free to do so, but I actually actively encourage you to do so."

Booth stared at her for another long minute, and then tossed the remnants of the cookie dough onto the counter and stalked towards her. "Fine," he said, moving towards her with a distinctly predatory look in his eyes. By the time he'd cornered her, pressed his body up against hers, and muttered, "Me Booth. You Bones. We have awesome sex. You laugh. I win"…well, Brennan was too far gone in laughter to concede that Booth had found a very useful way to get her to laugh. But, he'd again tricked himself out of a point in their bet on yet another technicality since they hadn't had sex yet. Forunately, for Brennan, she was more than happy to let Booth continue to try to get her to laugh that night…again, and again, and…again.

* * *

><p>Several days later, Booth and Brennan had awoken to yet another hot Texan morning sunrise after they'd solved the murders of Jenny and Julie Hicks. Stumbling out of their trailer, the sight that greeted their eyes was only slightly surprising, but also very welcome since it meant they could finally go home.<p>

"They're gone," Brennan observed, stating the obvious for lack of a better statement to make. She sipped a cup of the Dunkin' Donuts coffee that Booth had made, using the beans he brought with him from home, but also during a time when he'd bitched for five straight minutes about how the coffee would probably taste like crap anyway since he was working with a travel percolator that had been new in the Sears Roebuck annual catalog of 1955.

"Yeah," Booth nodded, as he looked around what was now an abandoned campground.

"We slept through it?" Brennan questioned him.

Nodding at her, Booth answered, "Yeah." Suddenly, a small gust of wind caused a piece of paper to rustle near them. Booth grabbed it and smiled when he realized what it was. "Look at that." He then read, "Boris and Natasha and their Russian Knives of Death." Looking over at Brennan, he smiled as he said, "Guess we all got it in us because I would have run off and joined the circus."

Taking a step closer, Brennan glanced at the paper and nodded, "We did it."

Booth gave her an affective peck on the cheek as he said, "Buck and Wanda were damn good."

As he pulled away, Brennan smirked slightly as she said, "Buck was more dashing than you." Booth gave her a look that Brennan countered by saying, "I mean Buck, drove a motorcycle."

"Well, Wanda was funner than you," Booth volleyed back.

"How?"

"Well," he said again. "She let me knock off a rubber nose from her face with a knife. You would never let me do that. You are way too rational."

Brennan knew Booth was teasing her, and so instead of egging him on, she merely leaned up and gave her partner a soft kiss on the lips. She melted into him for a minute, and when they pulled apart, he wrapped an arm around her hips as they stared at the empty distance that stood in front of them.

"Where do you think they are now?" she asked.

"Over the horizon," he answered thoughtfully.

"Oh?" Brennan asked as she turned her head to look at him. "So, where does that leave us, then, Buck?"

"Simple, Wanda," Booth grinned. "Going home so some fellow named Booth can score an official point over his girl."

Laughing, Brennan shook her head, "Good luck with that one then. I think you're going to need it."

For his part, Booth merely squinted at her once, scowled lightly, and then laughed as he pulled her towards him and accepted her implied challenge by sealing the deal with one more kiss before they went back inside the trailer, ready to be, as Booth had said, home once more.

* * *

><p>-<span>TBC<span>-

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>: Just in case anyone's wondering, one of my favorite (if not _the _favorite) episodes of season 4 is coming up next. Agent Peyton Perotta might just finally see our favorite duo in a compromising situation that could have unintended consequences for their bet. Stay tuned!


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